More From Brennan's Nonexistent Journal
by Lesera128
Summary: Brennan's past secret life as a news reporter for the Associated Press finally catches up to her & threatens her marriage & family's safety in ways she never anticipated. Secrets finally come out & consequences abound. AU. Sequel to "Often Quoted Quotes"
1. Pro:A Little More Apprehensive

More From Brennan's Nonexistent Journal

Rated: M (mostly for language… but some occasional other stuff later... err, truthfully, probably sooner rather than later)

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan's secret life as a reporter for the Associated Press catches up to her & threatens her family's safety in a way she never anticipated. AU.

A/N: This story is the sixth work in a series that began (chronologically) with "Often Quoted Quotes Quoted One More Time" and followed by "Minute Musings Mused by Seeley J. Booth" and "Twenty-one Weeks at Quantico." The companion piece "An Alpha Male vs. An Alpha Female" and the stand-alone piece "He Called Her Bones, She Called Him Booth" serve as a bridge between "Twenty-one Weeks" and this story, which begins approximately a year and a half after the events in the final chapter of "Twenty-one Weeks" or a year after "Alpha Male." As such, it is not stand-alone piece and it references many, many events and AU happenings that occurred in those stories. It is suggested that you read those stories first in order to fully know what's going on in this story and to avoid mass confusion… As ever, annoying flames will be fed to my pet dragon. A good piece of advice... if you don't like the story (be it premise, writing style, plot, characterization, or INSERT RANDOM GRIPE HERE), stop reading, and hit the back button. It's that simple... and you honestly don't need to tell me what you're doing. Happy hunting. :)~ Otherwise, enjoy.~

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><p>Prologue – "A Little More Apprehensive"<p>

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><p><span>Quote<span>: "Their whole lives have changed. You'd think they would be a little more apprehensive."

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><p><span>CLASSIFIED - SECURITY CLEARANCE – TOP SECRET<span>

NOTE: Portions of this transcript have been blacked out due to privacy concerns.

TRANSCRIPT: United States Senate Committee on Armed Services Deposition, February 20XX

WITNESS DEPOSITION, PART I: Dr. Temperance Brennan, PhD., the Jeffersonian Institute, Washington DC

-BEGIN TRANSCRIPT-

QUESTION: Can you please state your name, address, and position for the record?

BRENNAN: Dr. Temperance Brennan, 2842 Emilia Avenue, Washington DC. I am currently employed as a forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian Institute in Washington DC.

QUESTION: Has Dr. Temperance Brennan always been your name?

BRENNAN: No. While it has been my legal name since 2007, my birth name was Joy Keenan.

QUESTION: And what is your professional background?

BRENNAN: I hold three Doctors of Philosophy in forensic anthropology, cultural anthropology, and kinesiology from Northwestern University. After graduating in 19XX, I began work at the Jeffersonian Institute, specializing in the identification and study of ancient remains. In 20XX, I received top secret security clearance from the Department of Defense. I have worked on numerous humanitarian relief missions under the auspices of the United Nations, NATO, and several private organizations to nations. Those countries include Darfur, Sudan, Rwanda, Tibet, Indonesia, Afghanistan, Iraq, Mexico, Guatemala, Ecuador, and Argentina. In 20XX, I also published the first in a series of fictional crime novels. I initially began working as a subcontracted consultant to the Federal Bureau of Investigations in 20XX. A year later, I was asked to consider accepting a regular case load, working in tandem with the liaison assigned to the Jeffersonian Institute by the FBI. I have maintained that arrangement in the same position as I have been available, off and on, from 20XX until the present date.

QUESTION: What is your relationship to Special Agent Seeley Booth?

BRENNAN: He is the current Special Agent in Charge that the FBI has assigned as the liaison to the Medico-Legal Lab at the Jeffersonian Institute.

QUESTION: Can you clarify what relation that position has in reference to you?

BRENNAN: Agent Booth is the FBI agent that recruited me in 20XX to solve a murder investigation under the jurisdiction of the Major Crimes Division of the FBI. In 20XX, I was asked and accepted a position working with Agent Booth as his partner on unsolved homicide cases involving forensic anthropology identification issues. As I stated, I have continued in that capacity since 20XX.

QUESTION: Is that description of your professional interactions the extent of your relationship to Agent Booth?

::pause::

QUESTION: Dr. Brennan, we remind you that you are under oath, and you must answer the question. Is your professional partnership the extent of your relationship with Agent Booth?

BRENNAN: No.

QUESTION: Can you please elaborate?

::pause::

QUESTION: Dr. Brennan, will you please elaborate your response?

BRENNAN: In addition to being my professional partner, Agent Booth is my husband. He and I were married on November 11, 20XX in Alexandria, Virginia. He is the father of my daughter, XXXXXXXXX, who was born on January 2, 20XX in Washington DC.

QUESTION: What knowledge do you possess about a reporter who worked for the Associated Press between 20XX and 20XX named Andrea "Andi" Anderson?

::pause::

BRENNAN: I possess a great deal of information about Andrea Anderson. You will have to be more specific.

QUESTION: Do you know Andrea Anderson?

BRENNAN: Yes.

QUESTION: Can you please clarify the nature of your relationship with Ms. Anderson?

BRENNAN: Andrea Anderson is a pen name I created in 20XX in the course of publishing a series of freelance articles I wrote for the Associated Press between 20XX and 20XX.

QUESTION: To clarify, are you saying that you and Andrea Anderson are the same individual?

BRENNAN: Yes.

QUESTION: What do you know about a series of articles that were published by the Associated Press between February and July 20XX about the NATO operation in Afghanistan?

BRENNAN: Again, you will have to be more specific. I know a tremendous amount of information since I was the individual who authored the articles in question.

QUESTION: In your persona as Andrea Anderson, did you meet a woman named Hannah Burley?

BRENNAN: Yes.

QUESTION: And, who was Ms. Burley?

BRENNAN: Ms. Burley is a television correspondent for the world affairs desk of CNN.

QUESTION: Can you please describe the nature of your relationship with Ms. Burley?

BRENNAN: I met Ms. Burley in February 20XX when we were both embedded in the same military unit for seven weeks in the Bagram Province of Afghanistan.

QUESTION: Was this unit the same unit where Special Agent Booth, then serving as a member of the Army Rangers at the rank of Sergeant Major, was assigned?

BRENNAN: Yes.

QUESTION: And, while embedded with this military unit, what was the nature of your relationship to Special Agent Booth?

BRENNAN: He arrested me, as Andrea Anderson, for being in a restricted area near the village of Marja.

QUESTION: Was he aware of your true identity when you were working under the alias of Ms. Anderson in Afghanistan?

BRENNAN: No.

QUESTION: Is he now aware that you used Andrea Anderson's persona as a disguise while you were embedded with his unit in Afghanistan?

BRENNAN: Yes.

QUESTION: And, when did he become aware of the fact that you and Ms. Anderson were, in fact, the same person?

BRENNAN: Shortly after he was discharged from the Army in April 20XX.

QUESTION: So, you're telling us that, despite the fact that you had been Agent Booth's partner for almost six years at the time you traveled to Afghanistan as Andrea Anderson, he had no knowledge that Andrea Anderson was, in fact, Temperance Brennan until seven weeks after he first encountered Ms. Anderson?

BRENNAN: That is correct.

QUESTION: And, as Andrea Anderson, what was the nature of your relationship to Agent Booth while in Afghanistan?

::pause::

QUESTION: Dr. Brennan?

BRENNAN: Initially, our interaction was purely professional. As I said, he first became aware of me in the persona of Andrea Anderson when he arrested me for being in a restricted zone in the village of Marja.

QUESTION: Initially, Dr. Brennan?

BRENNAN: Initially, yes.

QUESTION: That implies that the status of your relationship changed with Agent Booth at some point during the time that you had assumed the persona of Andrea Anderson?

BRENNAN: Yes.

QUESTION: Can you elaborate please?

BRENNAN: I prefer not to answer as I do not believe such personal issues having any bearing on the matter that has brought me before you all today.

QUESTION: Dr. Brennan, please. Allow us to be the ones to make such decisions. Now, will you answer the question?

BRENNAN: No. I fail to see what bearing it has on the topic that is at the heart of this hearing.

QUESTION: I remind you, Dr. Brennan. You have been subpoenaed to testify here today because of the events that happened when you were embedded with Agent Booth's unit. You can understand our confusion and concern about his actions regarding your mobility while in Helmand Province since, as you stated, he was the individual responsible for arresting you in the first place in the settlement of Marja.

::pause::

QUESTION: Dr. Brennan?

BRENNAN: There was a change in the nature of my relationship with Agent Booth between when he arrested me in Marja and my departure seven weeks later. I will simply say that the change in our relationship was one of a personal nature. Given the fact that Agent Booth is now my husband, and the father of my child, if you wish to know more, I suggest you use your prurient imaginations.

::pause::

QUESTION: You said earlier that Agent Booth arrested you in Marja?

BRENNAN: Yes.

QUESTION: Why?

BRENNAN: Because Ms. Burley and I had left camp in order to make contact with a member of the Taliban with hopes of arranging an interview for our respective press outlets.

QUESTION: Is this interview you hoped to seek the same one that resulted an article that you co-wrote, using Andrea Anderson as a pen name, with Ms. Burley in March 20XX?

ANSWER: Yes.

QUESTION: What do you remember about that interview?

ANSWER: The subject of the interview was an Afghan male in his mid-forties who was a member of the Taliban involved with the Opium trade in the Helmand Province.

QUESTION: Do you remember that man's name?

ANSWER: Yes. I came to know the man as Atash Fahran.

END, PART ONE OF THREE, TRANSCRIPT, DEPOSITION, DR. TEMPERANCE BRENNAN.

-TBC-


	2. Ch 1:Await My Own Surprise

More From Brennan's Nonexistent Journal

Rated: M (mostly for language… but some occasional other stuff later)

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan's secret life as a reporter for the Associated Press catches up to her & threatens her safety in a way she never anticipated. AU.

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><p>Chapter 1 – "Await My Own Surprise"<p>

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><p><span>Quote<span>: "Then, in ignorance, I await my own surprise. Although the odds of it to evolving into a commitment to another person are remote."

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><p>-OPEN WORD DOCUMENT-<p>

Here I was… it was late… and I was… alone. Okay, so maybe I wasn't technically alone. I did have this very cute brunette with baby blue eyes sprawled up next to me snoring. All right, technically that statement is not 100% accurate. To be accurate, I would say that lump wasn't really sprawled, but situated close by me... and it wasn't snoring, per se, but heavily breathing since she was just getting over a little case of, as Booth puts it, 'the sniffles'. I think he must finally be getting to wear me down after all these years since I have almost stopped fighting him on the use of some inaccurate and informal descriptors for illnesses better referred to by their actual name... in this case, the rhinovirus. However, I digress.

No, she wasn't snoring. She was 'breathing heavily'. Yet another defense her father uses when I wake him up for waking me up with *his* snores. Snoring, or, *heavy breathing* from Booth wasn't a problem this evening, as I said, because I was alone. Or, as alone as someone with a toddler sleeping at the foot of her bed could be at three o'clock in the morning. But, still for lack of adult company, I still *felt* alone.

She really wasn't supposed to be here. But, Booth was gone… and I found it just a little less lonely clicking away on my laptop with her wrapped up into a ball that eeirly imitates my own preferred sleeping position. With her worn purple fleece blanket tied all around her, I could only see her face turned toward me as her chest rose and fell in a steady pattern. Chrissy didn't like sleeping with anything but her face being free from the blanket. Head, arms, feet are always covered when she sleeps… only her eyes, nose, and mouth stick outside the cocoon she had begun to wrap herself in over the past year or so. Booth blames me. He says it's the result of some throw back to when she was a newborn, and I was always putting her little cap and booties on…. How he made *that* corollary, I'm not sure... but, it did make me realize how long it had been since I had been able to fit her little caps on her head and put warm booties on her tiny, tiny feet. Now... now, Chrissy was over a meter in height, weighed over approximately 16 kilograms in weight, and just a few months shy of her third birthday.

When did this happen? I mean, I know... I *know* she's going to be three in January. But, where did the time go? When did *it* finally happen? When did my baby girl stop being a baby? When did my little baby grow up?

I-I-I… my thirty-eighth birthday wasn't all that long ago. God - as ever, I use that term as a colloquial expression that I've become comfortable using in the time since Booth and I have become a couple, not to denote any belief in any supreme spirit or deity -… but, God, what a great night that was….

I think I loved it because it was understated - just family… me, Booth, Parker, the baby… my Dad, Jared, Padme… even Russ and Amy brought the girls up since it just happened to fall on a Saturday night. We spent the night at this restaurant on the bay. Booth found it, this little out of the way place on the water. It would have been worth it just going for the location and ambiance. But, it actually had a great salad bar, too… to say nothing of the rest of the food. Most everyone else got some type of seafood, but the salad bar was phenomenal… and the bread. The baked bread that came with the meal... if I had just eaten the bread, I think I could have been very pleased with my meal. And, then, there were a couple of bottles of wine for those who wished to imbibe… and yes, I was one of the ones who did some of that imbibing… and then there was cake… and dancing.

Music played in the small outdoor seating area that surrounded a small garden area of the outside bar… and Booth, pulled me into his arms, and we danced, under the stars. But, at some point during the middle of the song, he stopped moving and reached into his pocket and took out this little box – and I was confused for a moment when I saw it as Booth almost never gives me jewelry. However, he took the box out… dark blue velvet, and had pressed it into my hands with that smile of his... *my* smile. And, I stood looking at him in a pleasantly surprised daze, about to open the box... and that was when it started to rain. We laughed at the water began to soak us through to the skin in the matter of a few seconds. Booth grabbed my hand, and pulled me immediately forward as we followed the throng of people who rushed back into the restaurant.

However, at some point, he stopped just inside of the entryway. And, then, Booth pulled me into a corner and smiled and nodded at me to open the box. I did… and inside was the most beautiful pair of sapphire earrings I've ever seen. Not too big… not too small… almost most accurately described as studs. Pear-cut Ceylon sapphires. The setting was either white gold or, possibly, platinum. I never know when Booth is going to choose to be extravagant unless a TV or Flyers tickets are involved. And, they were beautiful. Perfect… and it was a perfect night. And, later, after we had made love and were falling asleep… me curled in a ball like Chrissy, and he wrapping his arms around me to use my back as his pillow... at that moment, I didn't feel old. I didn't feel like I had just turned 38.

But, now… now Booth is gone.

Damn, damn, damn.

*DAMN* that request from the Chicago field office. He had to go, and I couldn't go… because I wasn't requested, wasn't needed – not really… and *someone* had to stay with Chrissy. And, now, it's three o'clock in the morning, and my little girl is making me realize how much time has passed. She's going to be three in a few months… and it's late… and Booth isn't here… and I'm alone, but not really. And, with her… I was *so* stupid. And I missed… voluntarily… I missed *so* much with her. I don't like having a regret like that. I missed so much and for such a stupid, stupid reason.

Even before she was born, I feared I would make mistakes with Chrissy. I don't think I actually realized the consequences of my biggest mistake until I saw her laying there in front of me. Time - I had *wasted* so much time being other places (the lab, Quantico, mini sessions at dig sites, book tours) when it was so easy for me to enjoy being her mother. And, now... now she was getting to an age where Chrissy's most pertinent interaction with me was to challenge and rebel and test her boundaries.

*I* couldn't baby her now. Too many other people did anyway - Booth, my dad, Jared and Padme. Even Parker (on most days) kowtowed to her wishes. Chrissy was becoming hopelessly spoiled, and so that left me as the primary disciplinarian. I'm usually the 'bad guy' with her when she misbehaves. Booth, well... let's just say I somehow metaphorically stumbled into the role with her during the past year or so, since I see to be the one that she's always challenging, always testing. And, he seems content to have let me be the one to handle most of the issues when it comes to Chrissy's misbehaviors needing to be addressed in a punitive manner. So, I couldn't baby her... and I wanted to desperately. I started to wish I had back more of those months after she was born, during the first year of her life, when I *should* have babied her... could have... but didn't... because I was gone so much. And, now, she's older, and it's too late.

And as I look at Chrissy's slumbering form… and I've come to realize… despite the fact that Booth and I have never talked about it… I… I… I want—want—want a baby. There, I said it. I want another baby.

I've been thinking about it for a while. Unconsciously, I think I've wanted another child for some time, but it wasn't the right time for our family to make such a huge change. Parker had just turned fifteen, and in his own way, was challenging Booth's parenting skills as Chrissy challenged mine. The current argument lay over the acquisition of a driving permit. Rebecca had unceremoniously dumped the issue in Booth's lap by telling Parker that it was 'one of those things that was up to your father'. Work continued to dominate our schedules - that was nothing new. But, work had been complicated when the spring had been consumed with... issues from the past. Fortunately, after several trips to Capitol Hill, the past *finally* had been laid to rest, and I got my publisher to ease up with the demand for a new book outline. So, yes, things had finally seemed to have reached some sense of normalcy for our family... and, I knew at that moment... it was *time*. I wanted another baby, and if it was ever going to happen, *now* was the time to do it.

Hmmm… I wonder how well that's going to go over. Maybe Booth should have called me when he got back to the hotel like he said he would tonight after all. Heh heh.

* * *

><p>Several days later, Brennan sat on the edge of the examination table watching her friend Macy, who happened to be Dr. Macy Gystip… who also happened to be Dr. Macy Gystp, M.D. with a specialization in obstetrics and gynecology…. Brennan sat watching her friend, doctor, and OBGYN go over her chart.

"Everything looks fine,Tempe," Gystip said. "As a matter a fact, I'm not really sure why you wanted me to see you."

"Because," Brennan said. "I know that now that I'm 38 that I'm in a high risk category when it comes to pregnancies."

Gystip shrugged. "Yes, but seeing as how you're not pregnant, I don't see why that's a factor…unless you're trying to tell me something?"

Brennan nodded. "I would like to have a baby."

Gystip looked at the file again. "The notes indicate that you had the prescription for Yasmin filled less than 30 days ago, so I assume that this is a recent decision that you and Booth have made?"

Brennan paused. "I haven't exactly told Booth yet that I want to have another baby, Macy… I… I wanted to see what my situation was before I spoke to him."

Snapping the folder shut, Gystip shrugged. "Well, it's true that someone your age, but *only* because of your numeric age, would be considered a high risk pregnancy. But, you're in *great* shape, Tempe... and, so I wouldn't worry too much about it right now. Besides, it's not like the notion of a high risk pregnancy isn't unfamiliar to you since you were on the age borderline any way when you were carrying Chrissy... and then the placental abruption bumped you over into the high risk category during the third trimester last time anyway.."

"I know," Brennan said. "But, that was almost three… three and a half years ago..."

"And you've been back on the pill since she was born?"

Brennan shrugged. "More or less… I don't know if you remember or not, but I came down with that flu about two weeks after she was born and the fever dried up my milk? I didn't actually breastfeed her for more than about ten days or so, and since I didn't need to worry about passing things to her through my breast milk, it seemed like going back on the pill was the most logical choice to make as far as contraceptive options were concerned once I resumed sexual activities."

Gystip nodded. "Okay… so you've been on the pill for a while. Normally, I would say that you should expect a period of adjustment when you go off it as the drug gets out of your system. It could take anywhere between six months to a year before the full effects are null in your body. But—"

"But?" Brennan questioned.

"But," Gypstik said with a grin. "As I *do* recall… weren't you on the pill when Chrissy was conceived?"

"Yes."

"So," Gypstik said. "It is possible that may not have been a fluke. The human body is quite remarkable in so many different ways. There is no hard and fast set of rules we can create that adequately explains each individual's response to certain changes in their body... be it anything from why an illness occurs or how you react to some drugs. It is possible that your body isn't as responsive to certain drugs like the Yasmin."

"I'm not sure if we can make such an assumption, Macy, given the fact that the oral contraceptive has been effective in preventing pregnancy since Chrissy was born over the past three years, and during that time Booth and I have had sex many, many times."

At this, Macy chuckled. "Yeah, well... I've seen Booth, Temperance. If I had a man like waiting in my bed every night, I think I'd have sex with him 'many, many times' too."

"He is very aesthetically pleasing," Brennan said with a content look coming over her face. "I find that over the years I have only continued to respond even more to his good looks and perfected physique." She blushed at her thoughts, and then turned back to Macy as she said, "However, since I have not become pregnant during this time period, I am not sure how sound your reasoning is."

Macy shrugged. "Like I said, Chrissy's conception may have just been a fluke, but-"

"Booth does have an extremely high sperm count," Brennan mused.

Gypstik laughed at that. "Of course he would." Still chuckling, Macy closed Brennan's chart and set it down on the counter. She nodded at Brennan as she said, "So… here's my advice. Go off the pill… take that gorgeous husband of yours to bed… often… and see what happens. I'm guessing… you'll probably be back here wanting me to do a prenatal work up sooner rather than later."

Brennan considered the doctor's words for a moment and then frowned.

Gypstik noticed and said, "What?"

"I… I'm 38, Macy. I… I don't want to end up as one of those women who ends up trying to conceive for years and wastes time. Perhaps we should consider options like fertility drugs…" Brennan said.

"Tempe," Gypstik said. "There is no physical indication that you suffer from any kind of fertility. I mean, if you're really serious about wanting to get pregnant fast, okay. We can try a few things. I can write you a script for prenatal vitamins, go over how to chart your cycle so you know when you're ovulating. But, I think it's just a bit premature to be thinking about things like fertility drugs and IVF procedures, okay?"

Brennan sighed. "All right. We can try it your way… for now." She paused and said, "So… your orders are that I should stop taking the Yasmin, start taking the prenatal vitamins… and have frequent unprotected sex with Booth then?"

"Yes, in that order," Gypstik nodded. "And Tempe?"

"Yes?'

"Remember… when you're ovulating… the more sex you have, the more your chances for conception increase," the doctor said with a twinkle in her eye. "In the mean time… I'll write you a script for those prenatal vitamins… and we'll follow-up after your next period, okay?"

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><p>Booth and I never really talked about starting a family. Chrissy… she wasn't exactly planned… and so by the time he and I talked about the fact that she existed… well, I was already at the beginning of my second trimester. And, so, it wasn't a discussion that really contained words like 'if' or 'should we'. Instead, since we were on a timeline, it was more like… 'okay, she's going to be here in six months, so here's what we need to do'.<p>

I honestly wasn't really certain how he would react to my recent revelation. I would be lying if I didn't admit that a part of me wasn't sure what I would do if he said no. It's not like we don't have the resources to care for another child, and he is *such* a wonderful father. But, he is also already 43, and does have one child of each biological sex. I could see him not wanting to complicate our life further with a new child. But, I wanted a baby... and I guess I will just have to find *some* type of way to convince him if he's nervous.

So, the question is now... how to tell him? Somewhat ironically, I did tell Booth before he left that I knew that this trip to Chicago was going to take longer than he initially thought it would. Also, half-jokingly, I had teased him about what might happen if I was left to my own devices for too long.. So, in a way, him leaving me alone by myself... it could be said that my revelation really is just his fault anyway. He knows I get into trouble when I have too much time to think... but, to be fair, I suppose I should concede... the duration of the trip really isn't his fault... it's the murderers'. And, I had really already started to come to this decision anyway. But, I much preferred having something I could tease Booth about as opposed to evil serial killers like the Chicago Satin Throat-slitter.

Serial killers are like that… *always*… Epps… Taffet… people like them are never very convenient or thoughtful about the effects that their actions have on the personal lives of the people who are trying to catch them. On top of *that*… whatever idiot this serial killer was… he was being quite a pain in my ass because all his victims were fresh kills… and never dumped in a place long enough where they could skeletonize. There was just too much flesh… which meant I wasn't going anywhere. The discovery of seven more dead prostitutes in a twelve-day period, however, meant Booth had had to stay a week longer than he originally thought after the discovery of the first three victims and the linking of their cases.

Booth was finally due home later in the day. I had offered to pick him up… but, it turned out that a case for *me*… a killer who *was* thoughtful enough to leave their victim some place to decomp down to the bones… necessitated me calling Jared, dropping Chrissy off with him and Padme, and catching a ride to the scene with Sully since he doesn't mind it if I drive by 7:30am that morning. Later in the day, Booth finally did get home. He even arrived a little ahead of schedule because his flight was on time and his debriefing meetings at the Hoover weren't scheduled until tomorrow… but I wasn't there to meet him. He went over to Jared's that afternoon, split a pizza for a late lunch, picked up Chrissy, took her home, and I wasn't there to join them for dinner. The case with Sully continued to drag on and on and on - almost sixteen hours were spent out in the field finding and confirming skeleton fragments and gathering other crime scene evidence. One body had actually turned out to be three... and, so, I wasn't there when Booth finally went to sleep because I was still traipsing about the woods of northern Virginia in what had been a very, very *long* day.

By the time I got home, it was close to three o'clock in the morning… again. I was covered in mosquito bites and had to sneak into the master bathroom to check myself for ticks and chiggers and shower before I could drop into bed. I wasn't really tired. I had overshot the 'tired' mark about four hours ago. Fueled by caffeine and nervous excitement about Booth's homecoming, I was, as Angela would say, wired. So, yes, he was home… and I was happy to see him… but I was frustrated that we hadn't had a single moment alone together yet… and that combination of variables had resulted in me staying more wound up than relaxing to be able to finally get some sleep.

In case you have never had the experience to check yourself for ticks and/or chiggers, it's really quite annoying. You *have* to check thoroughly because the bites hurt really, really badly… and if they get into your house… bedding, rugs… all of it can be contaminated. So, I was standing in the middle of our bathroom, stripped down to my bra and panties, going over every inch of my body (having already looked through my clothing and shoes extensively), was still hot, and sweaty, and I knew I smelled badly. It was in this current state that the door to the bathroom opened, and in walked Booth after I had gotten about five minutes into Operation: Tick and Chigger Search. He already had this adorable mussed look to his hair that would morph into bed head by morning. Booth hadn't shaved for what looked to be at least a couple of days… and he had this cute… *so* cute groggy look on his face as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. God, he is so sexy even when he's not trying to be...

And, then he looked at me, and got this smile on his face… it wasn't quite *my* smile… but one of its close relatives… one of the ones that said:

_'__Oh, what have we here? Not was I was expecting… but interesting… very interesting.' _

And, with that smile... Booth went from so sexy, to incredibly sexy_... _and was about to be pounced upon by his lonely wife if he wasn't careful.

To distract myself from his hotness, I answered his unasked question when I responded, "I'm looking for ticks."

Booth bit his lip and said, "Were you playing in the woods without me again, Bones?"

I nodded.

He smiled again. And that smile... it was both good and not good at the same time. It was not good at all from the perspective of completing tick and chigger check, showering, and getting some sleep. From the other perspective of lonely wife pouncing upon him, Booth's smile was very good... excellent, in fact.

"How much left do you have to check?"

"Not much," I conceded. I turned my back to him and reached into the shower and turned on the water to let it get warm. I then nodded and said, "Did I wake you?"

"No," Booth said. "Not really. I was waiting up for you and fell asleep at some point between the 13th inning of the ball game and Letterman… after that, it gets a bit hazy," he admitted with a yawn.

I turned my back to him, suddenly wanting to be clean and pretty and sexy and not feeling any of the three. I reached to unclasp my bra and wanted to see how quickly I could move into the shower to complete my desired transformation. I looked over my shoulder as I said, "I won't be that long if you want to go back in—"

And, then I felt him… that warm moisture that he breathes on me when he's focused on this one particular spot that I have where my shoulder meets my back… and his breath was causing goose bumps… and I heard Booth say, "Do you need some help?"

I closed my eyes… and, yup, felt him come up behind me all warm, and firm, and Booth…. Then I felt him press against me.

Yup. Definitely not good. But, also, very *very* good.

"How—how—can you possibly be turned on by me when I am this dirty and nasty and smelly… and just plain gross?" I couldn't help but wonder out loud.

"Come into the shower with me, and you won't," Booth offered.

Smiling an evil grin of my own, I didn't have to think twice as I graciously - and greedily - accepted his offer.

-DELETE-

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	3. Ch 2:Prove It

More From Brennan's Nonexistent Journal

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan's secret life as a reporter for the Associated Press catches up to her & threatens her safety in a way she never anticipated. AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 2 – "Prove It"<p>

* * *

><p><span>Quote<span>: "Yeah. Do you want me to prove it to you?"

* * *

><p>-OPEN WORD DOCUMENT-<p>

I awoke the next morning to find myself smack in the middle of our bed… with the bed's sheets and down comforter wrapped around me… and no Booth. Reaching over in grogginess, I felt the cold sheets on his side of the bed and frowned. Then, my hand hit something unexpected. Pulling it back to me, I discovered that a bottle of Calamine Lotion had been left on Booth's pillow with a yellow sticky note that simply had a happy face with its tongue sticking out at me scrawled in Booth's tell-tale handwriting. Smirking, I glanced at the clock and realized how late it was… well past 11am. Stretching luxuriously in the bed, I yawned once before reaching for a bottle of water that I kept on my nightstand. Glancing at the windows on the opposite side of the room, even though the blinds were closed, I could tell from the lack of normal light for what was customary at this time of day that it was probably raining.

I contemplated burrowing back down into the bed because I knew that, if it was 11am on a weekday, and I *hadn't* been woken up yet by either Booth, or Chrissy barreling into our room at the speed of light, it meant they were both no longer there. Most likely, Booth had gotten dressed - and somehow managed not to wake me, although it probably was less difficult than normal because I slept like the dead after my shower and impromptu sexfest with Booth in the bathroom – got Chrissy dressed and fed, dropped her off at her morning enrichment lessons, and proceeded to work. I also knew that I was not due back in the lab for several more hours, given how late our night had been, thanks to playing hide and go seek with the skeletal remains in the woods of Virginia. So, my choice was made and the final vote was tallied in favor of going back to bed… as opposed to getting up and trudging back to the lab before Cam or Sully would be there anyway. A boom of thunder reinforced the appropriateness of my decision. Grabbing Booth's pillow, which still smelled like him, I pulled it to me, readjusted the sheets and comforter around me… and back to sleep I went.

About 1:30pm, I woke up a second time, this time from hunger. Knowing that my father would soon be picking up Chrissy and returning with her from the enrichment lessons, I determined that it was preferable to at least to have *appeared* to have a productive morning. So, reluctantly, I left the warm cocoon that I had formed for myself in the middle of the bed. I yawned once more, grabbing my cell phone from the nightstand. It was still turned on, but on silent mode. Scrolling through the notifications, I immediately I saw there were several missed calls… none of them of particular importance… and one amusingly irritating text message.

I stumbled out into the kitchen to fix my brunch, taking the phone with me while I contemplated how to respond to the volley that Booth had lobbed in my direction via text message at 8:37am that morning.

_Text Message Received from Booth: It's not called breakfast when everyone else is eating lunch at 2 in the afternoon. Just FYI._

Going into the bread box, I pulled out a bagel and began to toast it, while I put the kettle on to make a cup of tea. Shaking my head, I wiped the sleep from my eyes again as I glanced out the French doors onto the patio and saw that yes, as I had guessed earlier, it had rained. It was neither thundering or lightening anymore from what I could see, but a steady drizzle was still falling, and the skies looked gray and overcast and somewhat miserable.

As I waited for the toaster oven to chime and let me know my *breakfast* was ready, I reached inside the refrigerator a pulled out some cream cheese and a pint of strawberries. Still not quite awake, I proceeded to wash the strawberries and place them in a bowl with just a very light sprinkling of sugar before the tea kettle whistled. I then fixed my cup of tea and set my drink to steep. My eyes drifted across the breakfast bar to look into the family room, and they settled on the console table that sat behind the couch.

A number of photos sat in frames… one of my Dad and I laughing on the beach at Assateague Island holding matching fishing poles…. a smaller one of Russ, Amy, and the girls at a carnival… a picture of Booth lifting Parker in the air on the t-ball field after a game… the photo of Angela and I that had long adorned my apartment before any of the other frames had joined it… the picture that Booth had given to me a couple of Christmases before of me holding Chrissy while we had both fallen asleep in the rocking chair in her nursery… and the shot that had caught and held my glance the longest today - a photo of me in the lab… doing my 'thing' with a set of bones (which are out of the view of the picture) in standard Jeffersonian blue lab coat and messy ponytail… and Booth standing just behind me… dressed in his standard FBI suit attire and merely watching me.

It had been a random shot that Angela had taken one afternoon… and I don't know why I love it as much as I do. He's not touching me. We're really not even standing that close together. I'm not even paying attention to him… but… it's just so evocative of our relationship… encapsulates in really a single image, what I think is one of the essences that just makes us... us… him watching me working… I… it's just always been one of my favorites. That's not to say that it was a running gag the first few months that I put the photo up with the others. The first day I came home after I had set it on the table, I found a photo that had been taken at Jared and Padme's wedding of Booth and I dancing taped over the outside of the glass. I frowned, removed it, but said nothing. Three days later, another photo – this one of Booth, Parker, and Chrissy eating ice cream cones on our bench at the Mall replaced it. Again, I sighed, took it down, but said nothing. The last photo… a photo that had been snapped by one of Hank Lutrell's legal clerks on Booth's cell phone in Hank's Alexandria law office on the night of our wedding was the final straw.

Taking it into our bedroom later that night while Booth was watching an episode of _South Park,_ and making loud guffaws at Cartman's antics, I held it up and merely arched an eyebrow. When Booth saw what I was holding, he had said, "So I guess you don't like that one either?"

"No," I responded. "I like the one I put in the frame to begin with, Booth."

He made a face, and then said, "But, why? That one is just... it's… it's so boring… and… we're not even touching or looking at each other… hell, we're not even smiling."

At that I shrugged. "I just like it, okay?"

Sighing, Booth said, "Really?"

I nodded.

"Okay… but I still think it's a crappy photo, Bones."

After that, I didn't have to worry about any more photos being superimposed over the image the frame had contained… and it was that image that my eyes now rested on this morning… and looking at the image of Booth, I felt a pang of longing… and desire…. and… frustration. Damn.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

Damn.

Grabbing the phone off the counter, I carried my breakfast plates and utensils to the table and arranged them in a logical manner. I began to sip my tea, before I took the phone and typed a response:

_FYI... you're a smart ass… a considerate smart ass, but a smart ass, nonetheless._

It took about three or four minutes before my phone vibrated with a response.

_Text Message Received from Booth: Morning sleeping beauty. And, so? I know that already. It's why you love me. _

I frowned, but typed an appropriate reply: _I did not just wake up. FYI._

_Text Message Received from Booth: Sure, sure. Like I believe that. You're welcome for the Calamine, btw. It took me forever to find. Why was it in with the massage oils and your body splashes?_

At this I couldn't help but chuckle. Chrissy had gotten bit fairly badly by some fire ants when we had gone to the park a couple of weeks ago. I had slathered the medicine on her liberally, and while it did bring my precocious child topical relief from the inflammation of the bites… the clear consistency of the gel that Booth had bought fascinated her. I caught her trying to dump the bottle over and squeeze the gel out when I turned away for more cotton balls for just a few seconds because she, essentially, continued to be mesmerized by the consistency of the gel. On one hand, I was thrilled by the fact that the viscosity that seemed to fascinate her might be an indication that Chrissy had a predilection towards chemistry. At such an early age, such a development would be fantastic… even for my child. But, on the other hand, I was also worried… because, well… when Chrissy gets attached to something, she has sort of a one-track mind until she achieves her goal. Booth says she gets that from me, and while I can't really argue that point, I do think it more accurate to say that she could have inherited such tenacity from *both* of her parents. I didn't think, at the time, that she would be able to find it *and* get at it from its place in the medicine cabinet, but just to be safe, I had hid it at the back of the shelf that held my various lotions, bath and massage oils, body splashes, and perfumes.

Deciding to give Booth the short version, I typed: _Long story involving C and the red ants from the park a couple of weeks ago. Didn't want her to find it. Thought she might go looking. She's too smart sometimes for her own good._

_Text Message Received from Booth: Ahh, well the smarts is all on you. I can't be blamed for that… only her cuteness._

At this, I smirked, but instantly responded: _Oh, really? I seem to have been unaware of this point._

_Text Message Received from Booth: Yes. The cuteness is a trademarked Booth property. _

Hmmmphh. Yeah. Right. Him, cute, huh? Well, yeah, he is. But, I can't tell him that. His ego is big enough already so I quickly typed: _Just because you trademark does not make it true, Booth._

_Text Message Received from Booth: How dare you insinuate I'm not cute. I'm adorable._

Hmmm… he did have a point there, I guess. I replied: _Okay, you've got me there. Maybe. Sometimes. But, only if I miss you like I do right now._

_Text Message Received from Booth: I'm missed you. I'm glad I'm out of Chicago. It sucked being stuck there w/o you._

Aww. Okay, I did smile a very silly smile at that point. Again, I glanced out at the windows and saw the drizzling rain and then recalled the soft cocoon of our bed. Longing started to pulse through me again as I absentmindedly typed: _I wish you were here right now_.

_Text Message Received from Booth: I wish I was too… wait… why?_

At that, my silly smile turned into a grin. I know it's not possible, but I could imagine that cute look he gets on his face when he knows he's missed something important with me and is confused. He's so cute when he's like that… so I simply typed: _It's raining, the apartment is empty, our bed is big and empty, and I'm here and you're not… and I've had visions of things I'd being doing to you if you were here right now_.

_Text Message Received from Booth: Are you trying to get me into trouble? And what kind of things?_

Hmmm… I chuckled at that one… yeah, if I didn't have his attention before, I had it now. Trying to figure out how evil I was going to be, I responded tentatively: _Maybe. Does that mean you can come home then? And I'd be doing things… to you… involving lips, skin, tongues, and a lot of moaning._

_Text Message Received from Booth: Unfortunately, no, I guess. But, dirty texts, Bones… that was bordering on a dirty text. And, who would be moaning… you or me?_

I laughed at that. And at how quickly the response had come… and so I hastily typed: _Yes it was… and if we were doing things the right way… both of us would be moaning._

_Text Message Received from Booth: How about screaming?._

I chuckled again as I replied: _Tease. Don't make insinuations you can't deliver on…._

_Text Message Received from Booth: Hmmm. Who says I can't?_

Reason kicked in as I pointed out the obvious: _Hacker… and about six other agents waiting for your debriefing._

_Text Message Received from Booth: Maybe I'm suddenly coming down with something because my stomach was bothering me after lunch… very sick, ya know… might need to go home immediately. _

He wouldn't… would he? Okay, if he wanted to play, I was game: _You wouldn't._

_Text Message Received from Booth: I might. I was in Chicago for almost two weeks. I'm over this right now. When do you have to be at the lab?_

I looked at the clock… and pursed my lips together. I had worked until well into the middle of the night last night… and Cam did say she was coming in late… and if Sully made it in by four, it would be a miracle… and the chances that the FBI techs had finished collecting and delivering all the evidence to the lab that quickly was slight. Hmmm… I then typed: _Was supposed to be in at 4… but I might not make it in today. It was a very rough night for me._

_Text Message Received from Booth: Are you going to call in?_

Heh. He was interested now. I could tell. I quickly responded: _Maybe… depends. What's my motivation… and what about C?_

_Text Message Received from Booth: Max isn't bringing Tadpole home today. He's keeping her for a sleepover tonight since he had tickets to the ice skating thing. And your motivation is about 6'1'… dark hair… dark eyes… wearing the black suit you bought him a couple of months ago._

Hmmmm… very interesting… despite our very pleasurable exchange last night… he still was in the mood and wanted to play. Hmmm… Booth… and playful… yeah, this trip to Chicago must have really pissed him off more than even I thought. Looking out at the window again, I smiled as I typed: _And if I make the call, what time can said motivation be here?_

_Text Message Received from Booth: 30 minutes._

Were we really going to do this? I looked out at the rain and smiled lazily. It appeared to seem so… and so I replied: _I'm making the call now. I'll be the one in the middle of the big bed in the dark bedroom._

_Text Message Received from Booth: Understood. Am suddenly not feeling very well. Will be leaving shortly. Love you._

I smiled at that… and made the call to the lab… and found that Cam wasn't coming in either… having picked up a case of poison oak last night that I *had* warned her about… and, no… the rain had made the evidence collection even more slow than they had originally anticipated. Sully had been forced to return to the scene to oversee the process during the delay, much to his chagrin. The remains weren't even back at the lab yet… and wouldn't be, it was anticipated, until much, much later tonight. The squinterns were on standby, but even Hodgins and Angela had left early when there wasn't that much to do. Glancing at the clock, I nodded. Suddenly, what had been a mostly melancholy and morose day started looking a lot, lot better.

I finished eating my breakfast, took the plates and glasses to the kitchen, and then padded into the master bathroom to clean myself up. I brushed my teeth and washed my face… but didn't bother to change, seeing as how, hopefully, I would merely find the t-shirt, panties, and pair of yoga pants I had on properly discarded.

Feeling a bit of excitement, the room still darkened and cool and the rain still falling outside, I jumped into bed and arranged the pillows and comforter around me.

About fifteen minutes later, I heard the front door open and some shuffling ensue. A few moments after that, he was there and standing in front of the bedroom door. I could feel more than see his playful mood as he said, "Excuse me, but I'm looking for a dark bedroom with a big bed… there's been an order to have some motivation delivered?"

I laughed. He *was* in a playful mood. "That would be right here," I replied.

Booth shook his head and said, "Ah uh, I'm afraid you're going to have to sign for it right here… because said motivation has arrived in a package that is dripping wet from the monsoon outside, so unless you want to drench the sheets…."

"Ohhh," I said hoping out of bed. "A dripping wet delivery of motivation, huh?"

I sauntered up to him, feeling his eyes on me in the dark, and for a moment I wondered if maybe this might be able to result in the very opportunity that I had been waiting for to talk to him about my decision. When I came up to Booth as close as I dared, I saw it… he *was* all wet. Drenched… hair wet… skin cold and clammy… while I was all warm and welcoming… so, of course, it was really only appropriate the I do a wife's duty… and so I did it as I ruthlessly began to strip Booth of all his soaking wet clothing.

"I've never seen you so enthusiastic," he murmured as I whipped his belt free from the loopings of his suit pants.

We still hadn't kissed yet… Booth knew what I was doing, and apparently pleased with my plan, he was just enjoying the sensations I apparently was eliciting for him.

"Hmmm, just wait," I murmured as the pants joined the suit jacket, tie, socks, and button down shirt on the floor. Reaching for the waist band of his boxers, my eyes opened in disbelief. "God, Booth, you're drenched… even your boxers? What did you do, purposely stand outside in the rain for ten minutes to get soaked?"

"Maybe," he grinned.

I shook my head in disbelief. "I'm getting you a towel."

"Why?" Booth pouted.

I pointed in the direction of the bed, not even sure if he could see it. "I have worked very, very hard all morning to make that very soft and warm and comfortable. A wet Booth will not add to that…."

"Oh, really?" he called as I grabbed the towel and returned.

I nodded as I began to pat him dry. "Yes," I mumbled, pulling at the boxers and watching him wiggle out of them. "Now, a dry Booth is a different situation all together."

After I finished drying him off, I took Booth's hand and pulled him to me. "My, my, aren't you compliant today," I murmured, leaning in to kiss him. "It is a full moon?"

"Maybe," Booth moaned as I began to lick and kiss his neck. "Not sure. Have to check."

Suddenly, his strange mood infecting me… well, I don't know if it was the rain, the fact that it was the middle of the afternoon, and he had skipped out on work, and so had I… and the apartment was uncharacteristically quiet with Chrissy's absence… but, just then, I yanked Booth in the direction of the bed… and pushed him down… and proceeded to demonstrate to him just how effective I could be when properly motivated.

* * *

><p>A little while later, Booth fell back into the bed, his arms spread wide as his eyes were squeezed shut in frustration and pleasant torture as Brennan leaned down over him.<p>

"God, please… please go back to what you were doing about five seconds ago," he pleaded.

A throaty chuckle left Brennan's mouth as she shimmied her body up the length of his torso, using the friction to create a pleasant feeling of skin on skin. "Oh, I plan to," she murmured. "All in good time."

"You're killing me," Booth whined. "The Geneva Convention specifically forbids the use of torture, Bones."

"What are you going to do, Booth? Arrest me," Brennan laughed as she began to trail another line of kisses, moving her mouth in a straight line down his chest and abdomen. Using a series of feathery light licks, nips, and nuzzles as she moved, Brennan felt his stomach muscles clench.

"Oh, please don't do that," he whispered.

Brennan stopped and looked up at him. "You want me to stop?"

"No!" Booth yelped. His eyes still closed, much to Brennan's amusement as he said, "No… just… please..."

"What?"

He took a series of shallow breaths as he said, "Just, please… go back to what you were doing… *before*…."

"Hmmm," Brennan said a loud.

She sat up at that moment, and hunched on her knees as she half-sat, half-reclined between Booth's opened legs, she scrutinized him for a moment, weighing her choices in how best to proceed.

When Booth felt her ministrations end, his head snapped up, and he looked down at her in confusion.

"What?"

"Hmmm?" Brennan asked.

"Why did you stop?" Booth asked, his breathing still coming in short and shallow bursts. "Please tell me you aren't going to stop? I don't normally like to beg here, Bones… but… you're killing me—" he repeated.

"I'm not going to leave you unsatisfied, Booth, stop worrying," Brennan chuckled. "I'm just thinking about how best to proceed."

"This isn't really the kind of thing you've had to think about in the past before, Bones… you, ahh, you're great when you just improvise," Booth said.

Brennan shook her head, "Normally, I would agree, but—"

"No 'buts' Bones… stop looking at me like I'm a pile of bones on your table at the lab, huh?" Booth pleaded.

She smiled at this, and decision made, Brennan inched forward. Booth, sensing her movement, tensed a bit in anticipation as she didn't do as he thought she might and put themselves in a position where they might both be able to obtain mutual release, but instead began to attend to his needs with both her hands… and her mouth.

"Oh, fuck," he murmured, clinching his eyes closed again as his hips bucked forward. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

He bit his bottom lip and began to fist two handfuls of the bed sheets without realizing it.

"Bones, oh, God… if you keep doing that… I'm—ohhhh, fuck," he moaned again.

She stopped for just a second and said, "If you want me to cease in my ministrations, I will, Booth, but the reaction of your body to my efforts seems to indicate that you would benefit more from my continued efforts on your behalf, as opposed to my stopping…."

Shaking his head, he said, "No, don't stop. Definitely don't want you to stop."

Brennan chuckled as she resumed her efforts.

"Nope… oh, God, if you keep doing that… I'll do whatever you want me to do…."

Another flick of the tongue, squeeze of the hand followed.

"Ummm… God, you're… that's… amazing… keep… please, keep doing that—"

Another lick, another effort by her tongue continued.

"Oh, God… I… yeah… whatever you want… God, you must want something if you're doing that... oh, God... yup... you must want something—"

She stopped at that and smiled. "I'm not doing this because I want something from you, Booth."

"I-I know," he said, his head lifting off the pillow to look down at her. "I just… oh, God, Bones… if you keep doing that, and you *do* want something, you name it… I'll get it for you."

Brennan grinned at this, and resumed her actions. Another caress by her hand, another sliding grope of friction.

"I'll take bedtime duty with Chrissy for the next month—"

More kissing, more licking.

"And mornings, too – Jesus…."

A deeper, more enveloping warmth followed by an increased amount of pressure.

"Ummm… sapphires… there's a matching bracelet to the earrings I got you for your birthday-"

More licking, more sucking.

"Oh, God—a gun, you want me to get you another gun, don't you—"

A throaty chuckle that he could feel...

"Yeah, I'm… oh, God, if you keep doing that… I'll, oh, God… I'll get you one. Fuck—"

Brennan knew her efforts were being particularly effective, as the more he talked, the more she knew he was closer to losing control… and obtaining release.

Again, he was groaning, his hips uncontrollably lifting to meet her efforts in a series of unintentional and reflexive half-thrusts. Brennan felt his body began to twist and writhe, and she took a certain amount of pleasure in her actions having elicited such a response from a man like Booth.

"I, ah… oh, God… you can even use it in the field… Bones… I'm going to… God, that feels good… ahhh, I'm very, very close, Bones—"

She didn't respond verbally, merely continued touching, teasing, tasting. Over the years, she had gotten particularly adroit at reading the reactions of Booth's body. She knew he was close… and she knew, right now, he was fighting her… it was a token fight, but still… Brennan knew he was resisting her. And, then, with one particular motion of her hand that she knew was always quite effective in pushing him over the edge, she felt his final surrender come to be met with a smile on her lips.

A few minutes later, Booth was still laying in exactly the same position his sated body had fallen into as Brennan took her customary place at his side, snuggling in against him. His breathing was still jagged, and Booth hadn't spoken a word since he had cried out her name in release. Feeling more than seeing her snuggle next to him, he took his right arm and rested it on her naked hip.

Taking several more deep breaths, Booth finally looked over at her and said, "That wasn't fair."

Brennan smiled up at him and said, "And why's that?"

"You… that was very one-sided," he managed at last.

Chuckling, Brennan said, "Trust me, I'm very well satisfied with how things have proceeded."

"Mmmm hmmm, some how I find that hard to believe," he said, licking his lips absentmindedly. "So what gives, Bones? You know I don't like it when I'm the only one who's…."

"What?"

"Ya know…."

"Having an orgasm?"

"Bones… don't say it like that."

"Achieving sexual release?"

"Try again."

"Getting off?"

"Better," Booth laughed.

He looked over, and said, "So, not that I'm complaining, but what gives?"

Smiling Brennan said, "Maybe I was just torturing you into doing my evil biding, Booth."

"Mmmm, yeah, about that…." Booth murmured. "Technically, as I only mentioned several possibilities, no actually deal was struck… so, yeah, you're still not getting a gun."

"Yes," Brennan chuckled. "I kind of figured that was just the impending orgasm talking."

Looking over at her, his eyes still dark and heavy-lidded from his sexual release, Booth caressed her hip as he said, "If you give me a minute, we can—" He nodded at her.

Smiling, Brennan shook her head. "No, it's all right. I'm good, really."

His eyebrow arched at that as he said, "You sure?"

"Mmmm hmmm. Positive," Brennan said.

* * *

><p>As soon as I said 'no' to receiving some reciprocal attention from him, Booth knew something was definitely up. I think his sex-addled brain was still trying to come down from what I knew was an unusually intense and satisfying orgasm. I… I had wanted to do something nice for him before I proverbially bushwhacked him with another… well, he calls them bombshells. He once said I had a nasty habit of just dropping huge pieces of news on him with no warning… and… I didn't want to do that this time. So, by making sure he was in as a relaxed and satisfied state of mind as possible, I hoped that the issue I was about to broach would be a little less traumatic than normal. I also didn't want to have sex with him until he knew about the fact that I hadn't taken my pill that morning… oversleeping had already resulted in me missing my normal dosing time. And, while I never had any direct confirmation that it had played a role in Chrissy's conception… that was one of the few aberrations I could determine might have contributed to how she was created. And, so, just to be on the safe side… although the OBGYN did say I needed to go off the pill before trying for the baby if I wanted the conception to be successful... but, I wanted to wait until we had talked… as this wasn't a choice I was going to make alone… and so… for me… sex could wait.

Unusually, Booth hadn't started to drift off to sleep after achieving his release. I think he could sense that there was something I was holding back from hiim, something I needed to talk about… and he was right.

"You're right," I said out loud, finally getting his attention. "It happens so rarely, I figure it's only fair to acknowledge it on the rare occasions it happens."

"Hmmm," he murmured.

"What?"

"I'm torn," Booth said, cracking a closed eye open as me, "Between asking you to repeat those very lovely, lovely words… and wanting to know what I'm right about…."

After a moment, he had not said anything, so I asked, "Well?"

"I'm still thinking here, Bones… this is a rare occurrence, as you're right to point out," he said in a deadpan tone.

I began to trace a random pattern on his bare stomach as I said, "If you don't hurry up and make up your mind, I'm going to do it for you."

"Bossy there much, Bones?" Booth laughed. I stared at him, but realizing that the amusement had begun to fade from my face, he nodded. "Okay, tell me what I'm right about… because I get the feeling you reducing me into a quivering mass of sexually satiated goo isn't completely a random occurrence."

"It's not," I began.

Immediately, Booth chuckled. "I knew it… I feel so… used, Bones… willingly… and gratefully used… but still used, nonetheless."

I couldn't help myself as I half-frowned, half-smiled at the quip. Sitting up next to him, I turned and pulled my legs under me as I reached for his hand. The vibe between us shifted instantly as Booth half lifted his back from the bed and sat up against the headboard.

Nodding at me, he said, "Okay… I know that look… and it's the 'I'm-thinking-about-something-that's-really-serious' look that you get on your face when you've already made a decision about something and now are just trying to figure out how to tell me. So, go ahead… tell me."

Damn, he's good. Then again, he always has been. So… it's not like there's any chance for any subterfuge even if I changed my mind about doing this….

Opening my mouth, the words were out before I realized that I had, at some point, abandoned my plan to ease into it….

"Booth… I want a baby."

* * *

><p>He looked at her for a minute, but said nothing. The words hung between them in the air, as Booth realized that he *was* genuinely surprised by her statement. There were a hundred things he thought she might have to tell him… a new dig she wanted to go on… an extended book tour that had been scheduled… hell, Booth was even half-serious when he made the gun joke a few moments before… but… the unguarded vulnerability that shone in Brennan's eyes as she looked at him expectantly… waiting for his response… it truly surprised him… and, at first Booth didn't know how to react.<p>

Brennan watched him for a couple of minutes, giving Booth time to process her words since he often chastised her that his brain did not process things as quickly as hers did. At last, he nodded at her, and said, "I suppose that statement isn't in reference to the one we already have?"

Slowly, Brennan shook her head.

"Okay," Booth said. "Wow… I… ahh—"

"I know this may seem like a random topic to bring up, Booth," Brennan interrupted. "But… I… I've been doing a lot of thinking lately and… I want to have another baby."

He considered her words again and was silent. Brennan began to panic as the silence grew. Immediately, she reached out to him and grabbed Booth's hand. Clasping it tightly, she said, "I know we've never really talked about having kids before… because… it's not like we really had the option with Chrissy."

"Well, yeah," Booth said. "That kind of goes with the territory of the 'unplanned' part of 'unplanned pregnancy', Bones." He then stopped and looked at her curiously, with a bright gleam coming into his eyes, "Wait, you aren't pregnant already, are you? Is that what you're really trying to tell me?"

Slowly Brennan shook her head. "No… not yet… but… I find… that I want to be. I really want to be."

Again, Booth was silent.

Again, Brennan panicked and began to speak to deal with said panic.

"I… I know this is one of the types of decisions that we need to make together, Booth. I'm 38… and I know you already have two children and may not want another one because you already have reproduced biologically so that your current offspring include a son and a daughter—" Brennan began to ramble.

"Hey," he said, interrupting her this time. "Yes, biologically I already have a son and a daughter… but, biology aside, so do you, Bones. Parker loves you and thinks of you as a mother just as much as he does Rebecca."

"I know that," Brennan immediately said. "And, I didn't… I didn't mean it like that… I—I find that I am not explaining this very well…."

"Then just stop, take a deep breath, and start over again," Booth advised with a reassuring smile.

Brennan nodded. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled and then repeated the process. Then, she began to talk. "While you were gone in Chicago… I… I had a lot of time to myself to think—"

"Always a bad thing," Booth joked gently.

Scowling, Brennan ignored him. "And… I realized how quickly things have gone by with Chrissy… and I know that you told me when she was born that they would… but I didn't understand… and now that I do, I find that I would like to have the opportunity to have another baby and not miss out on as much as I did with her… and, as I said, I am 38, so time is obviously a factor. And, the more I've thought about it logically, I-I… I don't see any reason not to have another baby, Booth… if we want one, that is. We have the money, having another sibling closer to her in age would be a benefit in a number of ways to Chrissy, and…."

"And what?" Booth said softly.

"And," she smiled up at him, shyly, "I think that you make beautiful babies, Booth… in a highly enjoyable process."

"You aren't so bad yourself, Bones," Booth smiled.

"I want another baby," Brennan repeated. "And… I… I stopped taking my birth control pill this morning. We haven't had sex since… and I didn't think we should until you knew exactly what you might be getting into... if we did."

At this, Booth's eyes widened in surprise slightly, but he remained quiet as she spoke. Once she finished, he nodded at her and said, "You're sure about this?"

"Very much so," she said instantly. "I'm very sure."

Reaching over, Booth brushed a lock of hair that had fallen into Brennan's face away and tucked it behind her ear. His hand then stopped at her chin, and cupping it lightly, he nodded. "Okay, then."

"Okay?" Brennan asked. "That's it?"

"Hey," Booth said. "Like you said… there really isn't any good reason not to do it if we both want it… and then there is the added benefit that the task requires me to make love… repeatedly… to my beautiful wife. That seems like a win-win, no-brainer scenario to me, Bones."

"Really?" Brennan asked, the surprise obvious in her voice.

Booth laughed at this. "Yeah… why… did you really think I would say no?"

Shaking her head, Brennan said, "Not really… in the end… I did think I would have to do some more convincing then this… you know, making a very persuasive argument and all…."

"Oh, you can still feel free to do whatever it was that you had planned to persuade me," Booth said wickedly. "I have no objections to that."

Brennan laughed and leaned forward towards him. "I think we might be able to arrange that…."

A short time later, having made good on her earlier claims, this time, both individuals lay in each others' arms very, very satisfied and relaxed. Brennan was half-asleep when Booth murmured her name.

Looking up drowsily, she said, "Hmmm?"

"Do you think we just did it?"

She considered his words before she said, "Statistically, it is possible. We had unprotected sex, so my ovum and your sperm are in play, metaphorically, without having to combat an contraceptives, even though there is most likely a large amount of the synthetic chemicals built up in my system from having been on birth control for as long as I have been, but, theoretically, yes, it's possible."

"Bones," Booth chided. "Cut the squint speak in bed, hmmm?"

"Well, you did ask," Brennan chuckled.

Booth was quiet for a moment, before he said, "You know… this whole notion of planning a baby. It's rather a novel concept."

"Mmmm…" she nodded in agreement. "Yes, it is different, isn't it?"

* * *

><p>And, so, in the end, my fears that Booth wouldn't want to have another baby proved to be unrealistic. I was more thankful to him than I could say… unfortunately, our post-coital bliss was interrupted a couple of hours later when Booth's phone began to ring.<p>

Yawning, he reached out and grabbed the phone.

"Booth—"

I listened to him for a couple of minutes, and immediately realized that this was not a normal call… even from the FBI. But, then again, I knew it wouldn't be when he had left only a few hours before feigning illness. My assessment was confirmed when Booth quickly shifted out of bed, keeping the phone clasped to his ear as he rolled away from me with an apologetic smile. Scrambling for a pen and his notepad, he began to scribble details. A few moments later, Booth ended the call and groaned in annoyance.

Looking up at his muscular form, I smiled in appreciation of the view.

"Cut that out," Booth said.

"What?" I asked innocently.

"The leer," Booth said. "There's no time for leering here."

"You have to go back in? Seriously?" I asked rolling over onto my stomach.

He nodded. "Yeah… ummm… there's a case."

"But, it's still raining," I protested… and then uncharacteristically, I yawned.

Given his movements, and the fact that Booth's time in Chicago over the past few weeks had meant it had been some time since we had worked a case together, it did not immediately occur to me that the call might involve me. I pulled his pillow tighter towards me as I watched him begin to move around the room gathering clothes. He immediately dropped them when he saw they were too wet to be of much use, and walked to the closet to reach for a shirt and fresh pair of jeans that he could wear with his leather jacket. Stopping by his dresser on the way back, Booth grabbed a fresh pair of boxers and socks before he returned to the bed and dropped them at the edge as he began to pull the clothing on….

Looking over his shoulder, Booth saw me, saw me as I was watching him. Shaking his head with a chuckle, Booth stopped once he had pulled on his boxers. He then walked nonchalantly over to my side bed. For a split second, I thought he might have plans to initiate a sudden round three... but, no. Booth sauntered up to the bed, and then lightning fast, reached down and playfully slapped my ass as he said, "Come on, Bones, what are you waiting for, a musical accompaniment? Get a move on."

Somewhat surprised, I stuck my head up in confusion as I said, "I thought you said *you* have a case."

Booth shook his head as he said, "Nope. From the sounds of it… well… I'm going to need you on this one."

"But, I still have the body Sully and I found in the woods in Virginia," I pointed out.

"It can wait… or let one of the other squints take it over for now," Booth said, resuming his efforts to dress.

"Fine," I sighed. "I suppose I can at least do the initial consult."

Reluctantly getting out of bed, I stood and moved to the closet to grab my own clothing. Looking up at him, I said, "Good thing we don't have to call my dad since he already has the baby."

"Yeah," he said. He stopped and looked up at me. "Hey, Bones?"

"Yes?"

"It's true that the number of times you have sexual intercourse is related to an increased chance of conception, right?"

My eyebrows narrowed at this. "Usually, yes, there is some type of correlation," I replied.

"So… you know," he began slyly as he looked at the clock, "Since it's still early… and since I don't think we'll be gone that long initially…. if we hurry… we can grab some take out on the way back… and…" he gestured at the bed.

I grinned at him, taking his meaning, and then said, "Hmmm. It might be a possibility… if you're still in the mood for it."

He grinned back. "Oh, don't you worry. I'll still be in the mood for it. I can't help it… I feel like I haven't been with you in forever." He then gave a slight nod, "Besides, I just want to be as responsible as I can to make sure I fulfill my part in this new endeavor of ours… you know, kind and considerate guy that I am?"

I playfully frowned at this, as I said, "I just bet you do." Then… my brain finally catching his odd wording earlier, I looked up at him and said, "Wait… what do you mean… 'initially'?"

Nodding, Booth said, "We need to go to the Hoover because the preliminary reports and images are only going to be on the intranet server this soon after upload."

"Booth, not to beat the metaphorical dead horse, but I don't like having my remains compromised by FBI techs who rarely known a femur from a fibula," I complained.

"I know," Booth said. "But, it would be kind of hard to get you to the scene right at this very moment."

"Why?" I said, bending down to retrieve the pair of panties that had been hastily discarded earlier.

"Because," Booth said. "The body… or at least what's left of the body was found in the foundation of a construction site at the federal court house—"

"Well, that's not that far away," I could help but point out.

"—In San Diego."

Oh… Hmmmm. Yeah, he was right. That was kind of far away.

-DELETE-

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	4. Ch 3:Benefit Hugely From an Association

More From Brennan's Nonexistent Journal

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan's secret life as a reporter for the Associated Press catches up to her & threatens her safety in a way she never anticipated. AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 3 – "Benefit Hugely From an Association"<p>

* * *

><p><span>Quote<span>: "It seems to me that someone like you could benefit hugely from an association with someone like me."

* * *

><p>-OPEN WORD DOCUMENT-<p>

My morning began ominously when I awoke early with the goal of spending some time in *my* office. It had been almost three years since my last book came out. I had finished writing the last one when I was on bed rest with Chrissy before she was born… and since then… I had been… somewhat distracted, too distracted, really, to be in the right frame of mind to begin a new book. It's not that I didn't have any ideas, it's just that I wasn't really in the mood to want to sit down and write.

Writing a story, any story, can be an extremely daunting task. Most people think they can write, and they can, if they're literate and have access to some type of writing implements. However, telling a story... being a successful writer who tells a story? Now, that's where things get tricky, because, well... everyone who can read has an opinion about what they've read. Good, bad, somewhere in between... the reactions to a person's writing are as infinite as the variation of the color spectrum. As long as your writing isn't eliciting indifference from your readers, you know you're doing something correct.

But, of course, once you written your story, dealing with the fan reaction to it - an entirely separate experience, by the way - can be overwhelming in and of itself. Both good and bad, I get all type of fan responses (via email, the postal mail, and, most ardently, on the so-called 'Brennanite' websites). Usually 1/3 of my readers love what I've written and have no complaints, only glowing and affirming responses. 1/3 of my readers will hate my stories, and for some reason, they will usually chose the most minute and inane aspects of my story to get upset about... okay, Kathy's boss betrayed her after ten years because he was being paid off by the mob? Fine. But, I dare mention the Kathy prefers as PC to a Mac? Hell. Pure hell happens. They won't agree with something I've written, and then complain to me... and I'm not even certain why, except they want to vent maybe? But, some of them do it because... well, it's almost as if they expect me to change things to suit their opinions, which always makes me... hmmm, I'm not sure how to describe my reaction, but it's... amused. maybe? I suppose 'amused' is the closest word to describe my feelings. Then, there are the 1/3 of my readers who, in general, like what I've written, but take issue with the hows, whys, and what-fors of the way in which I wrote the story. They don't disagree with the over all plot, but will argue pacing, characterizations, etc. until I swear I'll never write another story ever again. But, this is where a key aspect of my personality comes in quite handy... I realized a long time ago that the first reason I tell a story is because *I* want to tell it. If other people enjoy it, fine. But, I write for myself alone. That's why I never, ever alter my stories over trivial feedback. It's one thing if a plot point needs to be clarified, a characterization adjusted for consistency, or pacing addressed. But, the biggest thing I always keep to when I write is that I am true to myself... after everyone else is just an afterthought during the creative process.

Honestly, that's one of the reasons why I don't like to let Booth read something before the manuscript goes to the editor. He's the one person that *might* be able to get me to change something based on how *he* would want the story to go because of who he is to me, and that's something I can't do. Writing is usually a solitary endeavor from a process-standpoint. That's why I think I was initially drawn to it. And, if Booth wants to write a story, he can. That's fine. But. I'm not going to let my writing be co-opted by anyone... not even Booth, although I love him more than life itself. So, that's why he doesn't get to read drafts. Not that that's really been a problem recently, but it might be again soon since, as I mentioned, I've been itching to start writing again.

A few months ago, somewhat coincidentally after my birthday, a new idea began to take shape in my mind. It seemed as if inspiration had finally struck… and I was anxious to start writing again now that my inner muse seemed to be focused and cooperating with me. It seemed like a very long time had passed since I just sat down at the keyboard to see where my fingers would be free to take the story… within the confines of my chapter outlines, of course. Now, having informed my agent of the idea, who had, in turn spoken with the publisher, the chapter outline I had just submitted had gotten approval… and last night, my agent had emailed me the preliminary details on the book contract… and the advance. Yes, there was still the advance, the *substantial* advance to consider.

I wanted to take some of the money this time and spend it on something for both of us... maybe a trip...? We hadn't been anywhere outside of work, just us, in a long, long time. Or, maybe I could buy something that I know Booth would never get for himself because it was expensive... but, I have to be careful about that because he's always been so touchy about money. Hell, he didn't even start using the joint account I set up with funds just for food and Chrissy until a couple of months after we had gotten married.

I normally didn't like to talk finances with Booth too often. In the first few months after we decided to acknowledge that the impending birth of our baby meant that we *were* an actual couple, it was a very, very hectic period. I spent a fair amount of time at his place, he spent a fair amount of time at my place… and Parker ended up drifting back and forth once I took my leave of absence from the Jeffersonian. Since people thought I was teaching a course at Northwestern for a semester, so I did have more time to spend with him than even Booth did, he spent a of time with me at my apartment. It was a fractured existence in those first few months. Booth was always leaving stuff he needed at my place at his apartment, Parker even more so, and neither one of them liked my idea of just buying duplicates of necessary items to keep at each place. For some reason, the fact that I had two toothbrushes, two hairbrushes, etc. freaked Booth out. But, I always seemed to have the essentials when they didn't... and gratefully used them, at least until my pregnancy continued to progress.

Yes, I did actually teach that anthropology course at Northwestern… but… it was via the internet. I gave my lectures via a networking platform called Elluminate. Interaction was conducted on discussion boards instead of one-on-one in person. Students submitted the assignments and received them graded via email. I submitted grades that December, a month into the mandated bed rest Macy had ordered me onto because of the partial placental abruption. This was the same partial placental abruption that occurred when Booth tackled me out of the way of an oncoming car one rainy night in November when I decided to go to Woodland to investigate the murder of Dr. Lauren Eames. However, between August when I took my leave of absence, and November when I was put on bed rest, Booth and I spent some time trying to figure out how to make things work… i.e., how to go from being a couple bouncing back and forth between our old apartments - since his forgetting things from one place to the next and my having duplicates wasn't working - and being a family in need of a home with bigger space.

The answer had come somewhat logically from the fact that I own my older apartment – it's really more like a condo, really…- and I still do, actually. I don't like merely getting rid of real estate investments, particularly in this type of economy… and I really, really liked the complex… and location… and several other characteristics. So, when a corner pent house in the building went on the market… bigger… but also *much* more expensive than my old apartment… I snapped it up. It was more the size we needed… four bedrooms (master, nursery, Parker's bedroom, and a guest bedroom that we've been using for storage that I really *do* need to get around to cleaning up and buying some furniture for one of these days), two baths, an office, family room, kitchen, small utility room with a washer and dryer, and a full terrace. It took me a while to ease Booth into the idea… because, well… he didn't react very well when he knew I had just bought it… without asking him, without telling him… and all with my own money. I haven't done that as much in what Booth has taken to calling the post-Quantico phase of our marriage and relationship, but back then I did it fairly frequently. Eventually, Booth finally and grudgingly conceded to the move only because of the baby. He knew I didn't want to furnish one nursery in the old apartment… and then have to do it over again in the new one, and so he finally capitulated… and that's how I spent my free time during the second trimester I was carrying Chrissy.

We chose mostly new furniture… a large majority of which Booth paid for… but occasionally, a piece would make it's way either from his old apartment that began to empty over the weeks, or my old apartment on the other side of the building. As time went by, Booth chastised me for keeping the older apartment, essentially as it always had been, minus the already moved living necessities. However, over the years, I have collected a *lot* of stuff… and I liked the idea of having a baby-free refuge to display my art collection, museum pieces, and what not that didn't need to be baby-proofed. Usually, when I wanted time by myself, the old apartment acted as my refuge. It had transitioned more into an office suite than my actual office in the new apartment… especially as *my* office in the new apartment somehow slowly transitioned into *the* office… which both Booth and I used… and… well… he and I have very different notions of how to keep an office.

I mean, just compare his office at the Hoover with mine at the Jeffersonian. I like mine appropriately decorated – when someone walks in, they definitely know that a forensic anthropologist works there. I also think the office should be (and actually is, by the way) relatively free of distracting play things. On the other hand, Booth likes to personalize his office. He feels more comfortable surrounded by lots of pictures, lots of sports paraphernalia, lots of gadgets and toys… footballs, globes, and who knows what else. I like my desk relatively uncluttered… I don't like to leave stacks of file folders and piles of paper on it if I'm not actively working through them… Booth does. So, it's somewhat clear that slowly, as his style began to encroach on my space in the new office, it really wasn't *my* office anymore. It felt like somewhere where, yes, we could check emails, surf the web, print things, fax things, even pay bills… but I couldn't write in there… either my scholarly writing or my fiction writing. It was difficult for me to grade there, go through student drafts and complete evaluations, and write up reports… and, so, I had the money, I wanted to keep the old apartment so that I had a place *just* for me, and that's where I normally went to do my writing.

However, on the particular morning I woke up, before I left to go to *my* office, I knew I had left my laptop in *the* office because Booth's desktop has been acting up and neither one of us has had time to debug it to find out what virus or malware has corrupted the system this time. He had asked to use the laptop last night to pay a few bills, and I knew he had probably left it there before he came to bed, so it wasn't a big deal. What *was* a big deal… as I walked into the office, and saw the laptop sitting open on the desk… was the random purple, red, and green crayon markings that littered the laptop screen in wobbly lines.

Sighing heavily, I clinched my fists and pursed my lips in frustration. Shaking my head, I counted to ten and then spun on my heels. Booth apparently caught the look on my face when I unexpectedly marched out of the office towards our daughter's room. He didn't call out, but I could sense his presence fall in line softly behind me as I marched forward.

Walking up to the room, I purposely threw open the partially-cracked door. Arms on my hips, a cold mask of displeasure hiding my anger, I stood in the door way and scanned the room as I spoke forcefully.

"Christine Joy Booth!"

A head of brown curls snapped up, a toothy smile - *Booth's* smile - grinned at me… and my own eyes innocently greeted me.

"Morning, Mommy!"

She's not even three yet… not even three… but over the past year… over the past year… she has been getting *more* stubborn, *more* defiant, and *more* infuriating. And, she's not even three yet!

I've spent my life facing down some of the worst, most violent, most manipulative and controlling members of society… Ecuadorian death squads, gang leaders, rapists, crooked cops, serial killers, my father… on a very bad day, I might even put Booth on that list, too… I've handled Presidents, four- and five-star military generals, Prime Ministers, religious leaders, socialites, actors and actresses, members of every US government organization from the National Park Service to the Secret Service, Homeland Security, the CIA and, obviously, the FBI... and I have *yet* to be bested by any of them. However, over the past year, it seemed as if the one person who finally might get me to crack… finally might get the better of me… was approximately 40 inches (about three and 1/3 feet) tall, not quite 36 pounds in weight, had an extremely high IQ level - although I had not yet had her formally tested - knew the entire alphabet… and, because of that last goal, apparently was going to be the one who *finally* did in Dr. Temperance Brennan. *That* person happened to be none other than my very own daughter.

When I found her, Chrissy was standing in front of this easel that we had bought for her. It had a dry erase board on one side and a chalk board on the other with adjustable legs so that it could continue to be used as she grew. It was currently turned so that the chalkboard side faced her

Chrissy, well, I'm not sure how long she had been up. It was a little after 7:15am. Booth… it was unusual for him to be up this early… but, our schedules had been a little off since we got back from San Diego. Normally, he'd still be asleep for another half hour or so… then I'd fix us breakfast, feed Chrissy, and get her ready to go while he dressed. We'd quickly eat… then he'd leave first with the baby to drop her off for her morning enrichment lessons before heading into the Hoover. In the meantime, I'd get changed and ready for the day so that I'd be leaving for the Jeffersonian and get into the lab by about 9:30am. However, as I said, today our normal schedule was a bit off because we had just gotten back… so I was going to spend a couple of hours writing… but, no matter how early I had awoken (followed shortly thereafter by Booth), apparently Chrissy had beaten us both by some time.

She was still wearing her nightgown from last night… but, over her night gown, Chrissy had pulled on the blue lab coat that I had gotten made for her about a year ago. It was very similar to my lab coat that I wore at the Jeffersonian… and, in an unusually sentimental moment, I had splurged and even gotten her name embroidered on the coat pocket… it said 'Future Dr. C. Booth' in simple white script. Chrissy went through a period of time, right after I gave it to her, where she insisted that she wear it over all her outfits (morning, noon, and night) each day for about three or four months. It got to the point where Booth and I were washing it every night - with him scowling at me each time he pulled it from the washer and tossed it into the dryer - and I had seriously considered just ordering a half dozen for her, when her obsession with it started to fade, soon to be replaced by the multi-colored sock obsession that, in turn, was something for which I got to blame Booth.

However, whenever she 'taught school like Mommy' Chrissy still insisted she wear the lab coat, even though she had already started to outgrow it as I looked at her that morning. The arms were a bit tight, and she had clearly grown about two or three inches since I bought it. But, she had still managed to get it on over her nightgown somehow… then pulled her hair into a messy ponytail. It was eerie staring at a miniature version of myself. I've never taken her to American or the lab for obvious reasons, but she's seen pictures. And, we've talked about what Booth and I do at work in terms a three-year old could understand. Apparently, this had resulted in her lining up about a dozen of her stuffed animals in front of the board as her 'students'. I had apparently interrupted her lecture, as she had a piece of white chalk in hand and was gesturing at her stuffed dolphin when I arrived. Her chalk board was covered in abstract lines and squiggles and didn't make much coherent sense except for the very crooked letter F which she had drawn in the middle of the board.

My displeasure still evident on my face, I looked at her and said, "What are you doing, Christine?"

"Teaching," she said. "Mr. Dolphin doesn't get it."

I couldn't help myself. I admit it, she wasn't quite three, and I should have known better than to ask… but my intellectual curiosity wanted to know what my daughter was trying to teach a stuffed dolphin at 7:15am in the morning. "What doesn't he understand?" I asked.

Yeah, that was so not a good thing to do.

She smiled. "I'm teaching him about the fee-or."

I winced. God, she *wasn't* still hung up on that… there are 206 bones in the human body. I'll admit, I may have been a bit over enthusiastic about teaching Chrissy about the human skeleton since she had been born… but, at three… all she seemed to retain about *all* the long winded rants I've chanted at her… was the name of a single bone… the femur. This is yet another example, I honestly believe, of Brennan intelligence mixing with Booth one-tracked stubborn single-mindedness. 206 bones… and the only one she can remember, or, more likely chooses to remember, is the femur.

Yes… like I said… she was going to finally do it… a toddler was finally going to crack me.

"'Femur'," I corrected. "It is pronounced 'femur', Christine."

She nodded. "That's what I said, 'fee-or'."

Stubborn… she was being stubborn… and trying to distract me. But, that wasn't going to happen. If the source of the original grin couldn't charm me when I didn't want to be charmed, there was no way in hell the mini-version would succeed. Chrissy was only 40 inches tall… I was not going to let someone who barely weighed as many pounds as she was inches tall do me in… it *wasn't* going to happen.

"Christine," I said.

"Yes, Mommy?"

"Before you started 'teaching', did you leave your room this morning?"

"Yes, Mommy."

"And, where did you go?"

She looked at me and smiled shyly. "Office," came her clear response.

Hmmmph. Well, at least we had gotten past the part where she thought she could get past me by evasion. I swear, my interrogation skills have improved by 1000% percent since she learned to walk and talk. If I had to go through the behavioral sciences portion of the damn training at Quantico *now*… P-CB (post-Chrissy Booth) I know I would receive perfect scores on the entire damn unit because you haven't truly broken a tough nut until you've learned how to deal with a smart toddler like Chrissy on a consistent basis.

"Christine, what have Mommy and Daddy told you about going into the office?"

"Not allowed," she parroted back to me, using the exact words that I knew Booth and I had conveyed to her about the issue of the office on multiple occasions.

Suddenly, my instinctual feeling that she was deliberately baiting me was confirmed by her word choice. Deciding I had had enough of the conversation being controlled by my offspring, I move to take the alpha-female position due me as her father's mate and as her mother.

"That's right," I confirmed, moving to scoop her up in a swift and fluid gesture. Chrissy immediately began to yell at the movement as I swept out of her room, past a very amused looking Booth, who had remained out of sight in the hallway, and back we went into the office. Holding her tightly, I stopped in front of the desk and pointed at the laptop. "Now, Christine, explain to Mommy why, if you know you are not allowed to go into the office, how did your crayons end up writing *all* over Mommy's computer screen?"

Chrissy turned to look at me and said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world, "'Cause, Mommy. I needed to practice my writing like you do."

In purple, red, and green crayons… yup, she was going to make me crack.

And, suddenly, a random thought occurred to me…how wise was I really being if, terrifying to my sanity as *one* Booth-Brennan DNA mixing produced offspring was… how smart was I to be to want to double the opposition? Obviously, it wasn't Booth's genetics, separate and by themselves, that was the issue. I've seen Parker… Parker is never this bad. Parker is a normal child. At times, he was precocious. But, he never, *ever* bypassed precocious for deviousness as Chrissy had done - and continued to do. No, apparently, it was something unique to the combination of his genes and mine that had produced this frighteningly brilliant child… who was also going to be the end of me. And, here I was… actively working to add a duplicate to the equation? Maybe it had finally happened… maybe she finally had caused me to crack, and I just hadn't noticed it until now….

Sighing, I said, "Christine, you were very, very bad to do this. You know you are not allowed in the office without your father or I here to accompanying you… and,yet, you did it anyway, and have caused an extensive amount of damage to my computer. You were very, very bad."

"No, Mommy!"

"Yes," I repeated. "And, you are going to be punished for this, Christine. You know such deliberate and flagrant misbehavior is unacceptable."

"No!" she shrieked again, starting to twist in my arms.

Booth often says that Chrissy doesn't know what I'm saying half the time I use my normal vocabulary around her. I disagree, and my opinion is usually confirmed by her reaction. She may not know the exact meaning of all the words I use, but she gets the general idea. Otherwise, she wouldn't start throwing a temper tantrum like these early rumblings seemed to indicate loomed on the horizon.

Turning her around, I brought her to face me as I looked directly into her eyes. "Yes, Christine. You misbehaved and such an action has punitive consequences." I stopped for a moment, looked at the crayons, and then decided. "You may not have access to either your crayons or your markers or your chalk for one week."

"No!" she screamed again. This time, she twisted harder, and began the first jag of what I knew would be a full blown temper tantrum. "No, no, no!" Chrissy yelled.

I pulled her tighter, struggling to control her tantrum.

"Yes," I repeated for emphasis.

Looking up, I saw Booth watching us from the doorway. I sighed at him and said, "A little help here, Booth?"

He nodded wordlessly, and came forward to grab Christine. She immediately stopped struggling when she was in Booth's arms. She looked at him, red-faced and teary-eyed, and buried her head in his shoulder. "Mommy's mean!"

Saying nothing, he looked to me. I shrugged and then moved past him. He followed me back to Chrissy's room. I immediately bent down and began to scoop up her boxes of markers, crayons, and chalk. When she lifted her head from Booth's shoulder to see what I was doing, she immediately started to scream again.

"No, no, no!" she yelled. Chrissy began to squirm, but Booth held her tight as her cries intensified. "NOOOOOO!" she screamed. "Those are mine! No, Mommy, nooooo!"

I hastily made a scan of the room, and believing I had collected them all, I disappeared into our bedroom and hid them in on a tall shelf in the closet. Chrissy's screams had intensified by the time I had reappeared. She had apparently been crying so hard that she was now alternating between hiccuping and occasionally hitting Booth's shoulder.

He still said nothing as I came back in and took her. Sitting down on her bed, most of the fight gone out of her, she turned her head from me as I said, "Christine, look at me, please."

"No!"

"Christine—" I warned.

Slowly, she turned her head and glared at me.

"Do you understand what you did that was wrong, and why you are being punished?"

Silence.

"Christine—"

"...Yes."

"Why?"

"'Cause I went in the office without you or Daddy."

"And?"

"And I wrote on your con'puter."

"'Computer'," I corrected. "But, yes, that's correct. And, because of those actions, as your punishment, you will be without your crayons, markers, and chalk for a week. They will be returned to you at that time, provided that you don't misbehave again. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good," I said, as I leaned down and gave her a kiss on the head. She turned away and scowled.

"Bad Mommy. I'll hate you forever."

I sighed as I stood. I gestured to Booth and said, "She's all yours."

Moving past him and back down the hallway into the office, I contemplated how best to remove the wax of the crayons from the computer screen without scratching it. I sat in the chair for a minute, so, so *not* in the mood for how Brennan vs. Chrissy Battle of the Wills Round 354 had turned out. Again, I sensed more than saw that Booth was there when he came back to lean against the door frame.

"I'll help you clean it," he said softly.

I waved him off. "Don't worry about it." Looking at him with a nod, I said, "Where is the little calligrapher?"

"Curled on her bed, clutching her dolphin, and cursing you with scathing epithets of 'Bad Mommy'," Booth said.

Nodding, I said, "Well, we both know I've certainly be called worse."

"Yeah," Booth said. "By me," he laughed. He then stopped and nodded. "She's… is it just me or is she getting worse lately?"

I looked up at him in disbelief. "Seriously?"

"What?" he asked in innocence.

"Really? Booth, I've been telling you that for a year!" I exclaimed.

"Well, yeah," he admitted. "But… now… it's like… it's not just you she's doing it with…."

I shook my head. "I don't know… maybe… I mean, I was planning on bringing it up with you soon anyway since the new year starts in August, but I think it's time we considered enrolling her in some preschool classes."

"She's only three, Bones… not even…."

"Yes, I know… but… she has never spent a lot of time in daycare because she's either with my dad or with Jared and Padme… and I'm concerned that her ability to socialize with children her own age may have been a skill that is underdeveloped because of that… she has trouble relating to children her own age… and I suspect if she were exposed to them on a more consistent basis, her mood might improve… and perhaps her defiance might lessen," I said.

"It was your idea to enroll her in the enrichment lessons with the individual tutors instead of the Gymboree class I wanted to put her in," Booth said.

I scowled slightly at that. "Yes, well, perhaps it's time to reassess my decision on that particular issue."

Looking back at the computer screen, I sighed… and he noticed. Softly, a hint of truth, a hint of amusement in his tone, Booth read me like a book as indicated by his next comment. "You aren't thinking it's a mistake to have another one, are you?"

I turned to meet his gaze and said firmly, "No… if anything… it is blatantly clear that Chrissy needs to have someone around on a regular basis that isn't spoiling her or bending to her every will… A little competition for her might be just what she needs, so I think it's a better idea now than I did before—"

"Even if it's another girl?"

My eyebrow arched at him, as I said, "I prefer not to answer that question, Booth. I don't think I can possibly say anything that won't be able to be used by you at a latter date to recriminate and chide me."

He laughed with a nod, and then turned back from the office leaving me with the crayon-covered laptop screen.

* * *

><p>A couple of hours later, Brennan was in a highly irritable mood when she arrived at the lab. After her impromptu battle with Chrissy, she was no longer in the mood to write. And, so, she decided to go in early and see what the San Diego field office had been able to process and ship to the Jeffersonian in the three weeks that had transpired since her initial consultation.<p>

Upon her arrival on the platform, Brennan was surprised to see that a slab of concrete was in the center of the work space. Cam, Hodgins, and Angela were staring at it in disbelief.

Frowning, Brennan said, "Is that from the case in San Diego?"

"Sure is," Hodgins said.

"Why wasn't I notified the remains had arrived?" Brennan asked, looking to Cam.

Cam waved her hands in supplication as she said, a bit more testily than usual, "It just arrived an hour ago. Facilities just unpacked the damn thing. I swear I was getting ready to call you when you came in the door. We haven't had unfettered access to it for more than about ten minutes."

Brennan frowned, but nodded, "Very well."

Angela walked around the slab of concrete and said, "This is certainly… exactly like you described it, Bren."

Brennan nodded. "I… I couldn't tell Booth much at the scene… the construction permits indicate the foundation for the original Starbucks' expansion were laid approximately two years ago. They found this when they went to carry out maintenance work on the foundation that was necessary after the last earthquake San Diego had two months ago… but the trauma to the bones is such, I can't even make a guess at race, sex, and approximate age, let alone cause of death."

"Well," Cam said. "I think it's a safe bet to make that at least we know foul play is involved."

"Without cause of death, how can you say that, Dr. Saroyan?" Brennan asked annoyed.

"Because, honey," Angela said. "When you were on scene, how many pieces of bone did you estimate to be visible?"

"Once I had determined that the remains were human… an estimate based on what was visually accessible… including chips and fragments? I would guess the skeleton had been smashed into at least… somewhere between two thousand and three thousand pieces. However, unless we can get a series of x-rays done and begin to remove the bones from the concrete, it will be impossible to determine an accurate count," Brennan said.

"Well, there you go," Angela said. "If a skeleton that's been smashed into a number between 2000 and 3000 pieces doesn't foul play, I don't know what does."

"2000 to 3000 pieces of skeleton buried in a block of concrete?" Hodgins offered gleefully.

Brennan considered the words of both of her friends, before she finally nodded.

"If you let me at what's visible, I can start to take samples for particulates," Hodgins said eagerly.

Brennan looked at him with a sigh. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

><p>"Fuck," Brennan's voice muttered from the bathroom.<p>

Booth looked up in the direction of her voice from where he sat on the bed with her laptop in front of him and a pile of cotton balls and Q-tips and a bowl of some baking soda and toothpaste concoction he was using to remove Chrissy's crayon markings from the screen.

Brennan shut the light off and came trudging out of the bathroom with a huff.

"What's wrong?" Booth asked. "Don't tell me that Chrissy got into something in the bathroom, too?"

Throwing herself on the bed, Brennan shook her head as she sighed. "No."

"Then what?"

"It's nothing."

"Bones—"

"I…" her head spun to look at him. He could see the frown on her face and the furrowing of her brow as she said, "I… I got my period."

Realizing the cause of her ire, Booth said gently, "Hey… that's not that big a deal, Bones."

"Yes, it is!" she said. "I…"

Setting down the laptop and his cleaning materials on the nightstand, Booth then reached over and pulled her to him. She reluctantly allowed herself to be seat between his open legs, leaning back against his chest. It was a position they had often found themselves in, somewhat ironically, during Brennan's pregnancy with Chrissy… and, even after the baby had been born, it was one they often fell back into when things of a serious nature needed to be discussed and they hadn't just had sex.

"It's not that big a deal," Booth said. He then nuzzled her neck. "You said it yourself… you only stopped taking the pill a few weeks ago… your system just needs time to flush the drugs out."

"But… I thought…"

"What?" Booth chuckled lightly. "You thought that because it happened so easily with Chrissy, if we did the same thing again, you'd get the same results?"

Brennan stared away from him for a moment, pouting somewhat as she said, "Yes."

"It's just a month, Bones…."

"But—"

"No, 'buts'," he said with a kiss. "Now, stop beating yourself up about this and look on the bright side."

Spinning her head to him, she said with a frown, "And ,what's that?"

"If you didn't get pregnant last month… we're just going to have to double our efforts in that goal this month…." Booth murmured into her ear.

Sighing, Brennan said, "I suppose that's a valid point."

"You bet your cute little ass it is," Booth said with a grin.

"And, and I weren't so crampy and feeling so totally unsexy right now, I would like to begin implementing that plan, but right now… all I really want is some ibuprofen and some of that cookies and cream ice cream that's in the freezer," Brennan said.

"So, that would make you feel better?" he asked.

Brennan nodded weakly.

Booth smiled as he moved to get out of bed. "You happen to be in luck, tonight, Bones… because… it just happens to be that for tonight only… I can make those two wishes come true… pretty quickly."

Brennan looked at him with a weak smile. "Oh, really?"

With a wink, Booth nodded. "Yup. Hold that thought, and I'll be right back."

* * *

><p>And, later, when Booth came back…and, I took the medicine, had eaten the ice cream, and was cuddling in bed while Booth held me in his arms, and we watched the news… it turned out, as usual, he was right. I actually did start to feel just a little bit better.<p>

-DELETE-

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	5. Ch 4:Offer Up A Little Bit

From the Non-Existent Journal of Dr. Temperance Brennan

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan's secret life as a reporter for the Associated Press catches up to her & threatens her safety in a way she never anticipated. AU.

* * *

><p>Chapter 4 – "Offer Up A Little Bit"<p>

* * *

><p><span>Quote<span>: "Offer up a little bit of yourself every once in a while. Just, tell somebody something you're not completely certain you want them to know."

* * *

><p>-OPEN WORD DOCUMENT-<p>

The case from San Diego soon began to demand more and more of my intention. The victim, Jane Doe – who we could refer to as a Jane Doe because we had finally been able to reconstruct enough of her pubic bones to determine sex – continue to pose challenging problem after challenging problem for the entire team, myself included. Each time we solved one issue, two more seemed to rear their metaphoric heads. I found myself spending more time in the lab, and when Booth finally dragged me away as he had not had to do in years, I became greatly preoccupied with thinking about what I would do at the lab when next I returned. It seemed like it had been a very long time since I had been confronted with a case that truly challenged my skills as a forensic anthropologist, and I found that challenge both refreshing and diverting.

It might seem at such a time when I became increasingly distracted by work that more issues with Chrissy might have emerged. However, several weeks after the crayon incident, I made good on my suggestion to Booth that it was time to enroll Chrissy in regular preschool classes. For the time being, the change seemed to be positive on two fronts as far as my precious daughter was concerned. One, it excited Chrissy and seemingly distracted her from further mischief. Second, for the first few weeks, Chrissy expended so much energy during the day, by the time she arrived home, she usually not only stayed down for a late afternoon nap, but went to sleep without too much of a fuss about an hour earlier than normal. I knew it was an idyll not to last, but I did try to enjoy it for as long as I could as the case of the Jane Doe, literally smashed into more than a thousand tiny pieces, continued to enthrall me.

* * *

><p>Usually, Brennan spent the first hour or so after her arrival at the lab occupied in her office. Unless it was for a very good reason, people knew not to disturb her until she had finished checking her email, listening to voicemail messages, returning phone calls, and the other monotonous tasks that she would have no patience for later in the day. Brennan sat at her computer scrolling through the emails, and she found herself making a face of disgust and annoyance when she saw an email from an email address that had not graced her inbox for some time.<p>

_To: brennant_

_From: _

_Date: August 24__th__ 06:57 WST_

_Re: Journal of Forensic Anthropology Editorial Board_

_Dear Tempe:_

_I know it has been some time since we have spoken. However, I wanted to preface this email by letting you know how much I appreciate the fact that you were willing to take on Susan Daniels, as a student at American, based on my recommendation. I heard from her at the beginning of the summer. Susan tells me that she loves the graduate program there and the seminars she's been able to take with other faculty members based on your recommendations. I know she hopes to be able to take at least one seminar with you before she completes her Masters, but I told her that it all depends on scheduling and not to make any definite assumptions. Your efforts with Susan on my behalf make me hopeful that, purely in a professional capacity, you might be willing to consider another request from me. _

_As you have probably heard, I recently accepted a position as the Editor-in-Chief of_ the Journal of Forensic Anthropology: Applications & Theory_. UCSD, the home of the journal, offered me a reduced teaching load in hopes of luring me to the journal's to serve as its editor for at least a couple of years ago. Now, the transition between my predecessor and myself is complete. I'm in the process of compiling a list of names of people who might be willing to serve and replace retiring editorial board members. Although the journal's records indicate you have agreed to act as a reviewer in the past, I know it's been some time since you took on a manuscript. So, my request is two-fold. First, while I know you have many demands on your schedule between American and the Jeffersonian, I hope you might consent to review the occasional manuscript for the journal, provided that I won't send it to you unless the topic is appropriate and something that I know would be of interest to you. Second, and more importantly, Dr. Terrance Riley's term on the editorial board is up at the end of this year. I would like to see if it is a possibility that you would be interested and willing to serve as his replacement._

_Although it isn't necessary if you don't want to see me, (and I would understand completely), I will be in DC for the annual meeting of the AAA at the end of October/beginning of November. If you would be willing to meet, I'd love to attempt to convince you to take the spot on the board. I know it would not only benefit the journal, but also might be of interest to you. I won't be foolish enough to expect that you would say yes to a meal… but maybe I can hope for drinks? _

_In either case, I look forward to hearing from you, and hope you are doing well._

_-Michael_

Again, Brennan made a face as she reread the words. The one thing that most people didn't know about academia was that it happened to be a very, very small world. Sure, it might seem like it would be simple act to avoid one person like Michael Stires for the rest of her career. And, after the case with Maggie Schilling, she had thought she might be able to cease any and all contact with him. However, it was a small world, and he *had* served on her dissertation committee. They went to the same conferences, the same workshops, and, while she could avoid socializing with him, word did come to her through second-, third-, and fourth- hand sources about him over the years. Brennan wasn't foolish enough to think the reverse wasn't true for him of her. More over, every so often, the Anthropology Department at American would get a graduate application with Micheal's strong letter of recommendation requesting support for the admission of the potential candidate. Her colleagues at American knew enough about her connections to Michael - even if they never, *ever* would reference it openly, all academic are shameless gossips, so things got around via half-truths and exaggerated whispers as time passed - that they always turned to her for an opinion on giving the proverbial thumbs-up or thumbs-down to a candidate. What made things so difficult for Brennan is that A.) Michael kept sending on some of his best students to American and B.) logically, she knew Michael's students shouldn't suffer for a personal transgression that their adviser had made against Brennan. It simply wasn't equitable. Thus, over the years, she had had some tangential contact with him, although they hadn't actually spoken in person since that day in the courtroom almost nine years ago.

Brennan disliked the situation she currently found herself within, but upon closer reflection, she knew she had little choice as to how she should handle his request. Overall, it was a good idea. The journal was a prestigious one, and, as a leading expert in the field, Brennan had a certain professional responsibility to contribute when she could do so. However, Brennan disliked that by accepting the editorial board position, she would make Michael think he had been correct. As a matter a fact, Brennan detested any situation that made Michael think he was actually right about something. Michael knew her well enough, even nine years after the fact, that by reminding her that taking on Susan Daniels had been a good decision because of the student's excellent skills and keen intelligence, Brennan had benefited by having contact with him. Combining Susan's application with the editorial board position was just a bit too much Michael Stires in such a short period of time, as far as Brennan was concerned, but she couldn't really say no. On the other hand, his email had hit on a sore point with regards to her seminars and professional development. Her department chair at American wasn't to the point of actually demanding that she teach a seminar, but Brennan hadn't taught any seminars since the exchange course at Northwestern. Managing the internship program at the Jeffersonian, guest lecturing as her schedule permitted, and supervising various Masters and PhD committees comprised the majority of Brennan's professional responsibilities at American. But, it was getting to a point where she needed to get back into the classroom, even if just for a semester. Thus, there were actually several reasons to accept Michael's offer, but, Brennan decided, it didn't mean she needed to be happy about it.

Pushing thoughts of Stires out of her mind, Brennan began to contemplate her teaching schedule for the upcoming academic year. Perhaps when she went to the next departmental meeting, she would talk to Dr. Wright. Constance had proven to be a very indulgent chair, and usually became excited to know when she could put Brennan on the upcoming semester's schedule for a new course. Thinking on it for a moment, Brennan nodded. In the spring, perhaps, she would offer to teach a couple of seminars. It could be perfect timing, Brennan realized, the more she thought about it. Depending on the timing of her achieving success in the other personal project she was working on with Booth, being in the classroom might put him more at ease, depending on how far along the term of her next pregnancy matched with the new semester's schedule.

Brennan was contemplating these results when suddenly a knock on the door disturbed her reverie. Looking at the clock, Brennan knew it would only be a handful of people disturbing her pattern this early in the morning unless there was a case. As she called out permission to enter, her suspicion was confirmed when Special Agent Payton Perotta entered the office carrying several thick file folders.

"Morning, Tempe," Perotta said.

"Good morning, Payton," Brennan nodded. "You're here early?"

Nodding, Perotta fought back a yawn. "Sully won a coin toss this morning to see who got the lovely task of bringing you this new stack of info on the building site from San Diego. I also included some hard copies of some preliminary reports from the field techs there that you left working with that very detailed set of instructions. The digital copies should have been transferred to the Jeffersonian mainframe from the Hoover's intranet, but just in case, I wanted you to have the info ASAP."

Reaching for the folders, Brennan smiled. "Thank you, Payton. That's very thoughtful of you, especially considering the fact that I know you probably want to return to wherever Sully is right now to exact retribution for having lost your bet."

Perotta chuckled. "You know it's nothing personal, Tempe. It's just, well, over the past year or two, he and I've worked out a great schedule with him taking normal rotation with Booth in the AM, and you and I covering the PM. But, the San Diego case… and the body you guys found in the mountains a few weeks ago? Well, they've both just wrecked havoc on our schedule. It seems like nobody can be considerate and dump their murder victims in a nice urban area within the confines of the District anymore."

Considering her words, Brennan said, "That is true. The San Diego case aside, I still have a couple of bites that are healing from the late night jaunt in the woods with Sully."

"At least he didn't make you check him for ticks and chiggers," Perotta complained. "He's *such* a baby. For a week afterwards, every time we were about to fall asleep, he jolted awake and swore he felt a bug in the bed. I spent every night for seven straight days having to get up and change the sheets because of his overactive imagination."

"Over the years, I've developed quite an effective system for going over myself for such insects, but I was also lucky in that, on that particular evening when I returned, Booth volunteered to help me double check to make certain I hadn't missed anything," Brennan chatted.

Her eyes narrowing, Perotta realized the implications of Brennan's casual comments. Deciding to play it cool in hopes that maybe the early hours might get Brennan to let something else slip, Perotta said, "Two sets of eyes and an extra pair of hands are always a good thing in a situation like that."

"Yes," Brennan nodded, as she began to flip through the file folders. "Particularly when Booth is very observant, particularly when the situation is created by the need to remove such troublesome insects, lest contamination of other bodies, clothing, and physical spaces occur."

At this, Perotta bit back a smile, but couldn't resist teaching her friend a bit as she asked, "So, in order words, Tempe... Booth is helping you with your tick and chigger checks and is very thorough about it, huh?"

Realizing that Perotta's tone had changed, Brennan forced herself to raise her head causally as she said, "He did it as a favor to me, yes."

"Just a favor, Tempe?" Perotta prodded.

Nodding, Brennan said, "Of course. He's my partner, Payton. You know that. We always do things for each other."

"And those things… you do them for him, and he does them for you, just… because you're partners?" Perotta asked.

Frowning, Brennan said, "You know, Payton, I expect the innuendo and insinuations from other people, but you've worked with both of us for years. You know better."

"I'm sorry," Perotta laughed. "It just seems like… well, since you… had that thing at the Academy last year—"

"It was technically almost a year and a half ago… or, slightly more than that, now that I think about it," Brennan corrected.

"Whatever," Perotta shrugged. "Whenever it was, it just seems like since the whole thing at Quantico that you and Booth have been a lot… closer than you've were in the past."

"Payton—"

Throwing her hands up in surrender, Payton nodded. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I just… I just want you to be happy, Tempe. You're my friend, and I know you would be good with a guy like Booth… and he would be good for you, too."

Brennan considered her words for a moment and then said, "While I appreciate the sentiments, I'm quite happy, Payton. More than I can ever remember being, okay?"

Nodding, Perotta said, "Sure, Tempe." She paused, then turned to leave. "I'm going to head back. Let me know if anything stands out from the techs' reports. Like I said, they tried to comply with your instructions as best they could, but they aren't squints."

"I will," Brennan said. "Thank you for bringing this over. I'm sure I could have used Booth's log-on to get copies from the intranet if they hadn't alreadyt ransferred to the Jeffersonian servers, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless."

Perotta reflected on Brennan's statements, but didn't say anything at yet another revealing point that Brennan had apparently let slip out absentmindedly. Instead, she merely nodded, and continued to the door. However, just as she was about to leave, Payton turned and said, "Tempe?"

Glancing up, Brennan was already flipping through the file folders when Perotta called out to her. "Yes, Payton?"

"You know," she began. "As good as it is now… as happy as you are now? With a guy like Booth? Things only get better. Just… think on that, okay?"

With one final smile, Perotta then turned and walked out the door.

* * *

><p>A couple of weeks later, after Payton's impassioned plea about Booth and I, somewhat ironically, I found myself sitting in the inner private office of John Jackson, managing editor of the Washington DC branch of the Associated Press. I say I find it ironic because, if not for John, who knows if and when Booth and I ever would have taken a chance and got together.<p>

I hadn't seen John in several months, and his call asking if I would be willing to meet with him as soon as we could schedule it had come as a surprise. However, given the fact that I never would have been able to create and pass myself of as Andi Anderson in Afghanistan almost four years before, and thus started on the road to formalizing my relationship with Booth, meant that I owed John a great personal debt. I had always liked him prior to what he did for me regarding the whole Andi situation, but personal preference combined with a personal debt meant that there wasn't much I wouldn't do for the crusty old reporter, who remained more a reporter than an editor, despite the fact that he had been thrust into a management position with great reluctance many years earlier, whenever he asked it of me. So, if John wanted a meeting with me, it was a meeting he would get

* * *

><p>Jackson pointed to a seat on the far end of the couch where he sat, indicating that Brennan should sit. Not bothering to argue, Brennan sat down and waited for him to speak.<p>

"Since I know you're dying to know why I asked you here out of the blue, Tempe, we can skip the pleasantries and get straight to the point, if you want," Jackson said.

Smiling, Brennan shook her head. "I'll admit that I was surprised to receive your phone message after what happened with the Senate hearings in the spring, John."

At this, Jackson chuckled. "I haven't had that much fun in years, you know, Tempe? Probably not since the impeachment trials in '99."

"I can see why you might enjoy attacking the establishment of American politicos, in the name of journalistic integrity, John. But, surely you can't be referring to the five weeks you spent incarnated prior to them subpoenaing my testimony?" Brennan said.

"You're one of my reporters… and a trusted source," Jackson said. "That damn committee gave no real reason to need to know who Andi Anderson was, or that you were connected to her. I considered it not only an honor, but a privilege to be found in contempt because of you. It was a kick getting to spend a few weeks in the slammer for you, Tempe. I just wish to God I could figure out who else could have given you up."

"I admit," Brennan began. "I've spent some time wondering that myself. The number of people who knew the truth of my dual identity, as both Temperance Brennan and Andi Anderson, was very limited. Mostly close family members and you—"

"And, that handsome husband of yours," Jackson finished. "I've always know that your alter ego as Andi wasn't the only secret you've kept over the years, Tempe, but I have to admit that it came as a bit of shock, even to me, when you testified about your marriage… and a child? Since when did you have time to become a mother?"

At this, Brennan chuckled. "I know I shouldn't be surprised, but how did you get a copy of that transcript? It was a closed session, sealed to Top Secret security clearance only."

"Tempe, please," Jackson said, a bit offended by her words. "Need I say it? This is *me* we're talking about."

"True," Brennan said. "And, to answer your question… it's really quite simple. The fewer people who know about my family, the safer it is… from a number of different angles. Yes, some people do know, and it seems like more people are learning every day. But, for now, keeping my time as a wife and a mother compartmentalized lets me do what I need to do as an FBI consultant and forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian."

"And, how about your work as a reporter?" Jackson said. "I know it's been a long time since you've even turned out one of those pulp novels of yours. You haven't given up on your writing, have you?"

"No," Brennan said. "It's just, I've been distracted. You asked when I found time to be a mother, and the answer is… well, something had to give. And, it's been my writing. My daughter will be three in January, and until now, I haven't had the time or been in the frame of mind to do much non-technical writing."

"Up until *now*?" Jackson asked, placing a certain emphasis on her words.

Brennan chuckled again. "There's no possible way you could know about the new book. I haven't even submitted any pages yet. Just a very rough and abbreviated outline."

Again, Jackson smiled. "I didn't know anything for certain until you just confirmed it. That's an old reporter's trick that you should know better about by now anyway, by the way. But, about the new book? I had heard things. There have been some rumors."

"Well, to answer your query officially then, yes, I'm working on a new book," Brennan admitted.

"So, you haven't given up on you writing… just your reporting?" Jackson asked.

"The Congressional hearings sort of blew my cover, John. You know that. Anything I write now, as Andi, can be traced back to me… so, no I haven't really considered writing anything new… especially when the last set I wrote caused so much damn trouble in my life," Brennan said.

"True, but they were a hell of a set of articles. How many forensic anthropologists do you know can say that they won a Peabody Award, the Hillman Prize, and a National Journalism Award?" Jackson asked.

"None," Brennan said with a smile. "Although, technically, they belong to Andi… and, as much as I don't like to mention her name, Hannah Burley. If I hadn't made the contact with Fatah through her, we never would have started the series that revealed the connections between the opium trade and the funding of the Al Qaeda training camps in Yemen."

"Yeah, well… Burley's not print, so I've never really bothered with her. You know how I feel about TV pretty boys and girls," Jackson said.

Shrugging, Brennan said, "The feeling's mutual between both groups of writers, it appears, judging from how I was treated in Afghanistan by other reporters. However, given what Hannah and I were able to achieve when we pooled our efforts, perhaps it should be an example as to what good can come from collaboration, instead of castigation and competition."

Waving her off, Jackson sighed. "Please, Tempe. Spare me the kumbaya chants."

"All right," Brennan chuckled. "Then, why don't you tell me why I'm here?"

"I did," Jackson said, crossing his legs and staring at Brennan intently. "I want you to write a new series of articles for me as Andi. The idea I have… is uniquely appropriate to your personal skills and background."

"And, it doesn't matter that, in writing this series of articles, people would know that Andi Anderson is a pen name for Temperance Brennan?" Brennan inquired.

"Not really," Jackson shrugged. "Most people don't know the truth of the matter anyway… and for those who do, it's not like I'm asking your to do anything that could put your security clearance in jeopardy or embarrass the Jeffersonian. Hell, if you really wanted to, we could run them with Brennan as your byline, but I figured I'd have a better shot at getting you to agree if I could tempt you to play reporter again without jeopardizing that privacy you love so damn much." He stopped for a moment and then added, "And, I'm sure that it wouldn't matter to you, but this is the type of idea that could add a World Association of Newspapers' Golden Pen of Freedom Award to that list of mantle pieces that you have, but don't really care about."

"Okay," Brennan said. "I'll admit, my curiosity it piqued. Tell me what you had in mind."

* * *

><p>My meeting with John remained at the back of my mind after we talked about his suggestion. The situation he had descroibed*was* very well-suited to both my interests and talents, just as he had said. I left his office making a tentative agreement. The only two things I needed to do before I finalized it was to figure out a way to schedule it for both John's purposes and my own… and get Booth's opinion on it. However, as I contemplated his offer and exchanged emails a few times, soon other demands, mostly of a personal nature, distracted me over the next few months. The distractions temporarily pushed John's proposal to the proverbial back burner of my priorities.<p>

Specifically, I was distracted by the fact that a certain event I had come to despise had happened three times. Three times, once a month, for three months in a row, I had gotten my period. I can't tell you how hopeful, how exciting it is to think that yes… you're not having your normal symptoms this month – so, maybe, just maybe, yes… this could be the month. You think that, yes, this is it. And, then, you realize that the extra sensitive sense of smell that you've had, the extra sensitive breasts, the unusual fatigue – all of them are sure, tell tale signs of pregnancy, right? But, nope. You get your period, and then realize, goddamn… you have to start all over again. Your hopes are dashed, you get just a bit depressed, and on top of that, have to deal with the unpleasantness of a normal menstrual cycle in all its glory. It really, really is not a fun process. Truly, it's better described as a vicious, vicious cycle. It's not pleasing, enjoyable, or in any way something I could find a silver lining in… despite what Booth had said about the sex being the fun part.

But, that's just it… when you're trying to have a baby? When you know that you've got to have sex at preciously the right time, whether you're in the mood for it or not? Whether he's in the mood for it or not? Whether you've both got the time, energy, and inclination? Whether you feel sexy or not? Well, guess what? When you want to have a baby and are trying to get pregnant… it can suck the fun out of what is one of the single most pleasurable experiences in all of existence. Having sex with a man like Booth should in no way, shape, or form become routine or burdensome to me… or vice versa! But, I was starting to think it was as the weeks went by… I was really scared about that. The pressure… the rigidity of having to have sex as soon as I knew I was ovulating? I was afraid of how it was affecting us… affecting *him*….

In truth, Booth's been great about it. I've never really expected anything less. But, really… the first month when I was still getting the hang of charting my cycle, it was a bit... awkward for me. I didn't know quite how to make it sound anything less than like I was expecting him to merely service me on the days when I knew my temperature was spiking because I was ovulating. So, I tried to put as much effort as I could into… not seducing him, not exactly. But, I wanted to make it fun... enjoyable, at least, for him. By the second month, I got pretty good at anticipating on which days we needed to focus… and increase our activities. Macy… as well as all the literature I had read, indicated that to increase my chances for conceiving, I needed to have sex with Booth on the day before I ovulated and the two days after… just to be on the safe side. It was probably overkill on my part. But, on those days… I tried to entice him when I could. The morning sex helped. If there's anything that he likes - aside from throwing me up against our front door and having at it - it's being awakened, gently, firmly, but with steady attention being paid to him when he's asleep. I stumbled onto that by accident when we first started sleeping together when he thought I was Andi… and it's never really gone away.

So, yes, I would awaken him from his slumber and found myself peppered with drowsy kisses and fumbled groping on his part. Booth always said he always has a good day when he starts it out in the morning with sex. Then again, I can't think of any normal hominid male that wouldn't agree with him on that one, now that I think about it. Anyway, I tried to entice him with morning sex, and that was a good thing. I made my best efforts to find time alone for us to be together for the requisite amount of foreplay and duration on both our parts so that it didn't seem like it was a chore. However, actually being able to achieve optimum conditions for morning sex is not as easy a thing to do as it once was.

First, Chrissy, in case I haven't mentioned it, is going to be three in a few months (I think I might've mentioned it?). She is a very precocious two-almost-three year-old child. And, she has an inane timing for knowing when to most inconveniently interrupt Booth and I as far as sex is concerned. She had it as a baby, so it probably shouldn't surprise me that it's continued as she's gotten older. After she was born, I would finally stop feeling icky and non-sexual enough to want to spend time with Booth… and she would start crying for some reason – usually hunger, and one of us would have to go up and get her. Chrissy continued this pattern once she learned how to climb out of her crib and surprised on us two or three occasions before we figured out that she not only knew how to get out of her crib, but had also learned how to open and close bedroom doors. On top of all of that, the caseload lately has been relatively intense. The Chicago trip for Booth, followed by the San Diego trip for both of us, had been followed up by road trips to Delaware and West Virginia. It was a lot of time on the road traveling, and again, everything that took energy away from us in one part of our lives meant there was less to be used in others – including our sex life.

I felt particularly guilty during the first month when, my temperature was spiking in the first cycle during which I had started charting, and I knew I was going to be ovulating at any time. Like I said, I didn't want it to see like I was merely using him as a stud horse. So, I tried to find ways to be creative. But, you can only have morning sex once a day.

During that first month, I realized I would be ovulating soon, and I knew we needed to have a chance to have sex. But, on the night of my realization, Booth wasn't home. My epiphany had come on the night of the baseball All Star Game, and Booth had gone to Jared's for some big party. I wanted him to stay and enjoy it for as much as possible…. But the game didn't start until after 8:30pm… and then went into extra innings. It was close to midnight when I texted him to let him know that his presence was required at home. I became impatient as it continued to get later and still there was no sign of him. As it was the middle of the week, I knew we wouldn't be able to sleep in the next morning, so time was ticking if we were going to achieve the goals of having sex and actually sleeping for an adequate amount of time. Eventually, Booth made his way home.

Booth, as I said, was great. He knew what I was talking about immediately, and left Jared's pretty much as soon as I had texted him, even though it seemed much longer to me, in my impatient state, then it actually probably had been. He listened to the game on the way home (thank you Sirius Satellite Radio Major Sports Packages – BEST gift I ever bought for Booth as an epiphany on our last wedding anniversary), and I hoped I might be lucky enough to have it end while he was en route. But, it wasn't… and the game was still going on when he came into the bedroom. I immediately tossed the remote to him, and Booth hastily turned it on to the proper channel. I sighed because I had already fallen asleep twice before he got home, and it was only getting later. So, as I said, time was ticking.

The next commercial break gave me a chance to begin enticing Booth to get in the mood for the task at hand… but, it happened to be a shorter than normal break because of a pitching change. Booth got distracted when one of the Phillies' relievers finally got put in to pitch. He stopped paying attention to me all together when the reliever started lobbing wild pitches in the dirt. Riled up when the AL scored a run because of said blunder, Booth had rolled away from me and was laying on his stomach with his head facing the end of the bed and his hands holding his chin, as he watched the game and tried not to yell his annoyance too loudly, lest he wake Chrissy.

Not to be daunted, because *now* I was taking this personally, I felt a new burst of energy fuel offended reaction. Despite my fatigue and the necessity of the situation… being 'put on hold' for a baseball game – what type of woman would I be if I simply took that without any response? Yes, it was the All Star Game, and yes, it was in extra innings, but we had also been at the proverbial third base and deciding whether to start trying to run for home plate, to use Booth's baseball metaphors, when he had just suddenly *stopped*. So, yes, I definitely could let *that* one go unanswered. My mind made up, evil woman that I am(as Booth has often accused me), I crawled up the length of his legs and shimmied my way onto his back.

Booth's head snapped back when he saw what I was doing.

"Bones… ummm, can you just stop doing what you're doing there for about ten more minutes?"

I pressed myself harder against him, arching forward into his back as I said, "*That* is what you said forty minutes ago."

He was half-looking at me over his shoulder, half-listening to the game. I hated baseball in that minute. I really, really did.

"It's almost over, Bones. I promise. If the NL can't tie the game back up, or get a go ahead run in the next half inning, it's over," he pleaded. "I promise," he added with a half-grin.

_Tie the game back up_? Oh, no. There was no way in hell that was going to happen.

Reaching my hand under his torso, I felt him begin to squirm as he realized where my hand was attempting to go.

"You're hands are cold," he said quickly, stiffling a yelp.

"Then, how about you do something that'll warm them up?" I muttered.

Booth's head was still turned to the television – why had I agreed to let him put that in here again to begin with? – and then there was the sound of the bat hitting a ball, Booth's swift intake of air as he waited to see if the outfielder could catch it or not (he did), and the announcer saying that they were going to the bottom of the 11th inning. At that, Booth's head snapped back towards me, he rolled me over, and began to resume his earlier efforts on my behalf. The ability that my husband has to shift between such divergent activities... watching baseball and having sex... it really is something to see. You can't quite appreciate it unless you know Booth. He went from one to the other in a truly impressive movement of fluidity... but, I suppose Booth might say the two activities aren't all that different. They're both games, in certain ways, after all, aren't they?

Nuzzling my taut stomach as he moved his head lower, Booth looked up and said, "That was not a very nice thing to do, Bones. It's not cool to distract me… playing dirty… by slinking that hot and naked body of yours all over mine when I'm trying to see the end of the game." Booth was partially joking and partially serious. It would have been interesting to see what he might have done in reaction to my response, but I never found out as the game came back on the TV.

By the time the next half-inning resumed, we were no closer to achieving our goal of having sex for procreation purposes. However, thanks to his attentions, I was fairly worked up and close to climaxing. As I may have mentioned before, Booth can be very, very focused when he wants to be. Very effective, very thorough, and very focused… in everything from how he interrogates a suspect to how he can get me off… and everything else in between. By the time he had reduced me to a quivering pile of warm soft gooeyness, he had only missed the first out. By the time I had recovered my brains enough to realize what he had done, the second out had been achieved. By the time I had worked up enough indignation to implement my response, cursing loudly, Booth was not pleased at an AL victory… but quite willing, at that moment, to engage in some of his own strategic maneuvers. After a half hour after that, it couldn't be said that we hadn't had sex and checked off the calendar box for today's cycle in my ovulation pattern. Nor could it be said, after that, that apparently the loss of his sports teams in baseball can only decrease his ardor and potency. If anything, I think they may have increased it. I made a note to ask Parker what the AL teams were for the Washington and Pennsylvania geographic regions so I could begin to root for them in kind.

However, despite all that effort on both our parts, and many other similar type of situations that there's really no reason to recount, I still got my period that month... and two more after it. By September, I was so pissed at myself and so very, *very* frustrated, I knew I needed to do *something* about it. My decision made, I scheduled another follow up appointment with my OB/GYN. At least in making the appointment I was doing *something*, so I did start to feel just a bit better.

As the days passed, and I waited for the day of my appointment to arrive, I also absentmindedly wondered how I ever would have lasted until Chrissy's birth endurance-wise without going insane if I hadn't found out I was pregnant until almost three months into the first trimester. For all intensive purposes, I only had to deal with the issues of conception, pregnancy, and birth for six months. Now, I was three months and counting into the process, and I wasn't even pregnant yet. After careful consideration, I decided I probably couldn't have made it through my confinement with her and maintained my sanity with it having been my first pregnancy. Even in trying to achieve a second one, I began to wonder if maybe these planned pregnancies were the greatest things that people made them out to be.

* * *

><p>Dr. Macy Gypstik looked at the results from several blood samples that Brennan had allowed to be drawn earlier in the week for analysis. She glanced at her friend with a sympathetic look, but setting down the print out, Gypstik sighed.<p>

Picking up at the resigned tone of her friend's sigh, Brennan looked up at her quizzically, "What?"

Taking the print out and handing it to her, Gypstik said, "Here."

"What? My lab results?" Brennan asked, taking the paper.

Nodding, Gypstik said, "I know you well enough to know that after I've give you my opinion, you're going to want to look at them… and your entire chart, anyway, Tempe. So, let's just try to cut the chase where we can, huh?"

Brennan nodded. She scanned the results, and then said, "You think that I'm going to be displeased when you tell me that according to my blood work, there aren't any hormonal imbalances or vitamin or mineral deficiencies that might contribute to my infertility?"

"You've been trying for three months, Tempe," Gypstik said. "I'd hardly call that infertility at this point. From a medical standpoint, most doctors agree that infertility can only be diagnosed with physical cause, or, idiopathically, when you've been trying for over a year to conceive and have failed to do so."

At this, Brennan let out a large sigh.

Reaching over, Gypstik put a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder. "Listen, Tempe. I know this is incredibly frustrating for you because you like… planning things and have them occur promptly on the schedule you've established. But, we did the blood work you wanted. We did the hystography that you wanted. The lab panels say everything is normal. The ultrasound detected no cysts or legions in either your uterus or on the fallopian tubes. I see no scar tissue or unexplained damage from Chrissy's delivery that could impede conception. Right now, as far as I can tell, as long as you're not using contraceptives and are having sex, there's no medical reason why you shouldn't eventually conceive."

"'Eventually'," Brennan said with a resigned tone in her voice. Her face then puckered in distaste as if she had swallowed a sour lemon. "I really, really hate that word."

Nodding in sympathy, Gypstik said, "Look, I see two options at this point… aside from giving things more time. If you really, *really* want to put Booth through it… we can run some tests on his sperm count."

"No!" Brennan said instantly. "If I make him do that again without a really, really good reason… well, I don't want to think of how he'll react. He's always taken an intense amount of pride in *his* virility. If, by some fluke, he had suddenly had a change in his motility or count, I don't think he'd take it very well... especially since he's over 40 now."

"He hasn't suffered any injuries or trauma to the pelvic region since Chrissy was conceived that might have affected his fertility, has he?" Gypstik asked.

Shaking her head, Brennan said, "No."

"Then, like I said, aside from waiting, if you really, really feel strongly, the only other thing to do is that I can write a script for a very, very low dosage of Clomid. But, I really think that you should just give yourself some time, Tempe. Don't put so much stress on yourself. Relax. Enjoy the process of the project… particularly since this one is so… enjoyable by its very nature," Gypstik said.

"And, that's it?" Brennan asked, doubtful.

"Well," Gypstik said. "As far as official advice, yes. But, unofficially, I can recommend a fascinating article that just came out in the _Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology_."

"Oh?" Brennan responded, her interest piqued.

Nodding, Gypstik continued. "A new three-year study found evidence of the fact that the chances for conception increased in cases where the couple reported… hmmm, how best can I put this? The article said that couples who conceived a child and pinpointed the conception to intense… aggressive sexual encounters differed from control groups where aggression was markedly absent from certain conception scenarios. The research theorizes that aggressive sex increased the levels of testosterone in the male as he was producing sperm over a number of days. The couples that conceived most quickly were the ones who… well, not to put to fine a point on it, but maintained higher levels of certain hormones as opposed to others. The findings are preliminary, but the study suggested a correlation existed between sperm that were more resilient and able to achieve conception as linked to the hormonal variances."

Brennan considered her friend's words for a moment. "So, off the record, you're telling me that the study featured in this article indicated that couples who had aggressive sex in the days leading up to conception conceived more quickly than those who did not?"

"That's what the study said, yes," Gypstik said.

Thinking about the words, Brennan gave her friend a smile, and said, "You don't happen to have that article citation handy do you, Macy?"

* * *

><p>I always like being both well informed and having a plan. I left Macy's office feeling more empowered in both contexts.<p>

Deciding to fill the prescription immediately, I then began to think how best to inform Booth of the latest… developments. Eventually, despite my vow not to surprise him in serious matters like these, I decided that this *particular* set of news required being imparted in as spontaneous a manner as possible in as short a time as possible. I read the article Macy had mentioned as soon as I left the office. She was kind enough to have her office manager photocopy it from the journal for me so I wouldn't have to wait to pull it from the Jeffersonian's library. Finding that the article's research had several promising variables, I decided that it was in my best interest to do what my doctor had told me to do. That was a good enough excuse, wasn't it?

…

Okay. Nope. Whom am I kidding? I saw the situation giving me a prime opportunity to get one over on Booth for a legitimate reason… and to have some fun while doing it.. Now, after all the years we've been together, both as partners and as lovers, what type of person would I be if I let a chance like this pass me by? It was just too good *not* to take advantage of…

And, so… I did. And, that was when things really started to get interesting...

-DELETE-

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	6. Ch 5:Biological Urges

From the Non-Existent Journal of Dr. Temperance Brennan

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan's secret life as a reporter for the Associated Press catches up to her & threatens her safety in a way she never anticipated. AU.

A/N: So, after a longer than expected delay, the original flagship series in the myriad world of my Bones fan fic is back with a new update. I have to admit, part of this chapter was inspired by some of the new Season 7 promos. I won't spoil anything for anyone, I'll just say that the Brennan of the promos is pretty much as damn close as I imagine the Booth and Brennan of this storyline being. So, yeah, that was really cool. For those interested, I'm also plugging a couple of things. First, the epic narrative "Buried with the Bones" is almost complete. There's only the epilogue left, which will be posted in the next couple of days. I've also been a bit behind on other stories because I can now report that my second collaboration with dharmamonkey - a sequel to "Costly Signals" - is almost complete. It's turned out to be a beast of a story, and I think it's even longer than "Costly Signals" was, hence the delay. Our plan, tentatively, is to have the first chapter of the new story - which is entitled "Cognitive Dissonance" - posted before the season 7 premiere on November 3rd. So, yeah, keep your eyes open for those and other goodies that are in the pipeline. As for this story, well, hopefully, the delay was worth the wait. So, let me know what you think. Enjoy!~

* * *

><p>Chapter 5 – "Biological Urges"<p>

* * *

><p><span>Quote<span>: "No, I mean with anybody. I'm sure Rebecca's not your only option for satisfying your biological urges."

* * *

><p>-OPEN WORD DOCUMENT-<p>

Time passed quickly, as it often does, when one is busy and relatively satisfied with how life is proceeding. And, for the most part, with the exception of the fact that I wasn't yet pregnant - despite both Booth and my best efforts to achieve that outcome - our lives were fairly satisfactory. It was only a few days after my last office visit with Macy- the one in which she planted a seed in my mind of something new I might be able to try to increase the chances of conceiving- that I actually realized how much time had passed. Specifically, Chrissy had been enrolled in her preschool for several weeks by that point. And, even though I saw her every morning while we ate breakfast, and I got her ready for the day before I left the lab, I hadn't realized how long she'd actually been enrolled in classes. Even though I spent a fair amount of time with her during the afternoon, after either my dad or Jared picked her up and dropped her off at the apartment on days when Booth and I weren't knee deep in a case, I hadn't realized quite how much time had elapsed since I enrolled her there. Yes, even though I helped tuck her each night after Booth got her ready for bed, I don't think I actually realized just *how* much time had passed. I eventually came to this conclusion only after I received a telephone call on my cell phone one afternoon after Chrissy had been taking classes for a little more than a month.

I won't lie. It was a bit of an awkward situation when I realized who it was that was calling me that morning, as I had answered the call when I was in the middle of working with the Jane Doe from San Diego's remains in the bone room. I wasn't alone when my cell phone rang, as both Angela and Wendall were with me while we were discussing a few particularly perplexing difficulties the reconstruction was presenting in so far as allowing Angela to recover our victim's face. By the time the phone call interrupted our conversation, I had managed to reconstruct approximately 332 pieces of the skull. Using seven different bottles of Elmer's Glue, I'd been able to fit together two ocular cavities, a portion of her lower mandible, and a significant portion of the base of her skull. However, my work still wasn't enough for Angela to get an idea of what the woman had looked like before she was so brutally murdered. Angela said she still needed a particular part of the mandible, and I was having difficulty satisfying her request due to the small size of the remaining fragments from that part of the skull. As I said, we were in the middle of discussing that issue when I took the call, realized who it was, and had to excuse myself to the safe refuge of my office so I could speak freely with Chrissy's principal. I gave both of them an apologetic smile before I high-tailed it out of the bones room, across the lab, and into my office.

After talking to the woman for several minutes, and simultaneously using a portion of that time to calm down when my blood pressure had spiked at the thought something terrible enough had happened to my daughter that they were calling me about an emergency, a new horror washed over me. Yes, at not even three years of age, I finally learned after I finished the telephone call that Chrissy had behaved exceptionally once again. However, in distinguishing herself from both her peers and her family lineage, Chrissy had gained a certain infamy that reaffirmed in my mind that more and more of the traits she'd inherited from Booth were manifesting the older she got.

At the simple age of three, my daughter had apparently become a sufficient enough behavior problem that the school was calling to request a parent-teacher conference. To say that I was embarrassed was to state my reaction quite mildly. Apparently, whatever Chrissy was doing during the day was bad enough that it bypassed the normal procedure of her primary teacher, Miss Jackson, from calling to set up the meeting with me. No, apparently Chrissy's actions were severe enough that they had attracted the need of the school's principal to intervene and involve herself in the situation. After I finished receiving the preliminary details from the principal, and we agreed upon a time to meet together the next day, I hung up the phone and sighed a sigh of exasperation that had only been ever caused by people of one genetic code - specifically those individuals who possessed Booth DNA.

Shaking my head, I then took my phone firmly in my hand, hit the speed dial, and waited for a very familiar tone to greet me over the line.

"Hey, Bones, what's up?" Booth replied. "You finally have something for me on the Jane Doe from San Diego?"

"No," I told my husband, a bit of frustration apparently creeping into my voice enough so that Booth seemed to recognize my tone without the benefit of my additional verbal explanation that I provided anyway. "I'm afraid I was interrupted from a meeting with Wendall and Angela when we'd been meeting to discuss why it's been so difficult for Ange to finish even a partial facial reconstruction when I received a most troublesome phone call."

"What happened now?" Booth asked.

"We're going to need to push back that interrogation on the Young case that we're helping Sully with tomorrow, Booth," I sighed. Stopping, I thought about it and then amended, "Or, perhaps instead of pushing it back, we can bump it up to earlier in the morning. That might work better since it would probably be a good idea to clear our afternoons completely, I think."

"Why?" Booth asked. I heard a shuffle of papers, and I knew he was looking at his calendar which meant I had caught him in the office. "I've got a performance review scheduled with three members of my field detail in the AM, Bones. That's going to be really hard to reschedule."

"Then, we're just going to have to tell Sully he's on his own with the Young interview then," I sighed. "We've got another appointment tomorrow afternoon at 3:30pm."

"Where?" Booth asked. "About what?"

"Georgetown," I told him sullenly. "And, it's about your daughter."

"My daughter?" Booth intoned. A catch of apprehension jumped into his voice as he asked, "Is something wrong with Chrissy?"

"She's fine physically," I told him. "But-"

"Oh, wait, I get it," Booth replied. "She did something again, didn't she?"

"To put it mildly, yes," I said. "Enough so that I was just called by her school principal requesting that I agree to meet with her for a parent/teacher conference as soon as possible."

Booth was silent for a minute, and I could tell he was mentally shuffling through the possible responses to toss out, most likely looking for the one that would piss me off the least. At last he said, "Hey, Bones?"

"Yes, Booth?"

"How comes she's only my daughter when she misbehaves?" he said lightly, a slight teasing creeping into this voice.

If he'd been there in front of me, I think I probably would've smacked him in the head lightly, since he chose that moment to make light of what he knew was a sore spot for me. I knew he did it to try to lighten my mood, but the principal's call had put me in a particularly sour mood. So, as it was, I shook my head and merely said, "While it's true that she didn't request to meet with both of us, I feel it would be a good idea if you were there to support me in this matter, Booth."

"Translation: you want me to keep you from trying to kill Chrissy until after the meeting?" Booth asked, a small chuckle clearly evident in his voice.

"Yes," I finally admitted.

He was quiet for a minute and then said, "Hey, Bones?"

"Yes, Booth?"

"Would you like me to stop on the way home and get some take out so we don't have to cook tonight?"

I smiled slightly at the offer, and again chastised myself for allowing our daughter to affect me in such a way. At his kind offer, I then decided that if Booth had been present, I probably would have kissed him senseless. Nodding even though he couldn't see the change in my body language, my voice softened a bit as I asked, "Thai?"

"With a double order of spring rolls and extra sweet and sour sauce?" Booth asked, even though he already knew my answer.

"I love you," I told him.

"I know," I heard the grin in his voice as Booth responded. "I'll see you later, okay?"

And, after we hung up the phone, and I returned to the bones room with a sheepish look to Angela and Wendall. But, because of Booth, I was able to at least focus enough and compartmentalize the fact that my toddler was driving me nuts. So, in the end, I did actually manage to work productively for a few more hours before going home to be rewarded with my Thai dinner.

* * *

><p>Whatever Booth had been expecting when he met Brennan at the Children's Montessori School of Georgetown, it was clear after their meeting with Ms. Jansen, that the reality of the experience differed from any preconceived notions he'd had. Somewhat annoyed at the fact that Brennan seemed to be frustrated that he *hadn't* anticipated such a possible outcome, Booth pursed his lips as he attempted to keep from saying or doing anything that would wake Chrissy up. Their daughter slung over his shoulder, having passed out at some point during the joint appointment with the head of the Montessori school, Booth finally looked at Brennan and said, "I still don't understand why you're mad at *me*."<p>

"I'm not mad at you," Brennan said, as they continued to walked in the direction of they parked his Sequoia and her Prius. "I just don't understand why you're surprised at Ms. Jansen's assessment of Christine's behavior. I told you three weeks ago when you commented on her unusual span of amenable behavior that it was most likely an aberration and to not get used to it."

"Well, so shoot me for thinking you were being just a tad pessimistic there, Bones," Booth sighed. "It's not like you don't tend to be just a bit negative when it comes to Chrissy."

"I know my daughter, Booth," Brennan said. "I suspected her compliance in recent weeks was merely due to her distraction that was caused by her starting classes at the Children's House and being immersed in a new environment."

"Ehhh," Booth said. "Yeah, I still don't know about that. I mean, I get why you think this type of place has an approach that can work with Chrissy's personality, but come on, Bones. How can a toddler be in danger of failing out of a primary level program? Especially *our* kid?"

"She's not in danger of failing out due to a low performance academically, Booth," Brennan frowned.

"Yeah, well, that's what it sounded like," Booth said. "When I was in school, the smart kids never got into trouble. The troublemakers were the ones who weren't smart enough to get away with stuff. But, the smart kids? They never got caught, and if they did, they came up with a way to get out of it."

Making a face, Brennan considered his words for a minute before she responded. "While I would be unable to deny the fact that, if you asked my father what I was like in school, especially if Russ was around, he might say something like I never got into any trouble because I had 'the entire school wired', there is some truth to the adage that the smart kids always get away with breaking the rules because they don't break them – they merely rewrite them so their actions aren't considered inappropriate," Brennan said.

"So, this you're way of telling me you were a Captain Kirk with your Kobiyashi Maru scenario there, Bones? There's no such thing as a 'no-win' situation, right?" Booth said.

"I'm not sure what Star Trek has to do with my youth, but if you're asking did I ever get called to the principal's office, the answer is … yes, I did, one time. But, it was only because I corrected a substitute teacher who was covering my dad's classes one week when he was out with the flu during my freshmen year. The buffoon tried to convince me that the periodic table only had natural elements, and that synthetically created elements were only added on to the display 'for fun'. I found Miss Masters to be a highly inarticulate and infuriatingly obtuse woman," Brennan recalled blithely.

"You actually called your sub that, didn't you?" Booth said, leveling his gaze at his wife with a knowing stare.

"Which part?" Brennan asked, as they arrived at the Sequoia. She reached into the pocket of her husband's suit jacket, took Booth's keys, and unlocked the SUV's back door.

"All of it," Booth said. "You called her everything from 'infuriatingly obtuse' to a buffoon, didn't you, Bones?"

"And, if I did?" Brennan asked innocently.

Narrowing his eyebrows at her in a knowing way, Booth asked, "Did you get detention?"

"No," Brennan said. "It was one day of Silent Lunch. However, since I rarely conversed with my peers during lunchtime, it wasn't that great an inconvenience for me since I just read my book like normal."

"Ya know, Bones," Booth said, shifting Chrissy slightly, as he strapped her into the car seat. Fortunately, like her mother, Chrissy was a deep sleeper when he was tired. She didn't so much as stir as Booth settled her in the car seat. "That could be part of what Ms. Jansen said when she suggested that some of Chrissy's behavior problems might be learned from what she's seeing when she's at home."

"Oh, no," Brennan said, shaking her head fervently. "You're not putting this one on me, Booth. I'm the only one who actually tries to set boundaries with her, and I have to be the bad guy when someone has to discipline her. Now, I know that since the day she started talking, between you and my dad and Parker, everyone's been trying to say that Chrissy mimics me, but there's no logical reason why she should imitate me given the fact that I am her primary disciplinarian—"

"Bones, come on," Booth said in a slightly frustrated tone. "You're really going to try to deny that one?" Brennan stared at him, giving Booth a look. He returned it in spades as he then added, "Do I really need to bring up the blue squint coat, Bones?"

Pointing her finger at him, Brennan retorted with a quick shake of her head, "Yeah, well, what about the stripped socks phase that came after the lab coat? She didn't get _that_ from me."

"It's sorta logical, when you think about it," Booth said, as he secured the SUV's back door, and leaned against it for a minute. "Doesn't anthropological mumbo jumbo always say that female children relate to their mothers in early developmental phases more than any other individual?"

"That's not anthropology, that's psychology, Booth. And, I can't believe that you're trying to quote scientific theory to me on this one," Brennan sighed.

"Bones, Ms Jansen said that Chrissy has taken to bullying the other kids with her vocabulary. No one will play with her during recess, and no one will work at her group table since she makes them cry," Booth said gently.

"I seem to recall that I'm not the one with a nasty habit of bullying people, Booth," Brennan said, clearly defensive, despite her husband's gentle approach. "As a matter of fact, I seem to remember bullying with a badge has always been youerspecialty."

Realizing her agitation required a more physical panacea, Booth reached out and pulled Brennan to him. Booth felt Brennan tense as he said, "Now, cut that out."

"What?"

"Stop being cranky," Booth chided her. "We both know that you're not mad at me, so stop trying to dredge up crap that you can make into some excuse to stew in your own juices about just because you're pissed off about Chrissy."

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are, Bones. I may have been a bit caught off guard by Jansen telling us that Chrissy's going to be expelled unless she starts to respond to the plan of starting the, well... what in the hell did she call them? 'Behavior modifications' or whatever the hell it was- but, anyway, I think we both know – even if you don't want to admit it – you've been pissed off since Jansen looked at you and pointed out the fact that if she observes an authority figure acting in one way, Chrissy will keep modeling her own behavior on what she sees," Booth replied.

"I—"

"And, furthermore," Booth said, pulling her rigid body tighter against his. "We both know you're being a bit hypocritical when you say that me bullying people hasn't always turned you on—"

"Now, that's not fair," Brennan said, immediately her head tilting as her face took on a different look. "I was personally insulted, Booth. It was *my* behavior and *my* personality she was talking about so I have every right to be upset. And, you can't just start doing that thing you do by flirting with me using sexual innuendo to distract and diffuse my ire."

"Why? It's a good tactic. It always works, doesn't it?" Booth chuckled. Leaning in for a kiss, he said, "Look. This isn't a big deal. You just need to be a bit more careful about how you act in front of Chrissy for a few weeks and see if that makes any difference. If she doesn't see you using big words to beat up on people like me and Max, then maybe she'll cut it out, too."

"That still doesn't solve the socialization issues," Brennan said. "By your reasoning, she needs to see me interact socially with other people, but since Angela and Payton and the others don't know—"

"Well," Booth said. "You know, I've been thinking about that. Maybe we need to rethink that whole choice, Bones. After all, right now there's really not any good reason to not tell some of them… Angela and Hodgins, Sully and Payton, at the very least."

"If we tell Sweets, and he finds out about the fact that Chrissy's teacher thinks she might benefit from therapy at the age of three, he won't be able to help himself, Booth," Brennan moaned. "And, I'm not putting my daughter in therapy, especially with Sweets."

"Okay," Booth chuckled. "While I agree with you on that one, don't you think you're being just a bit melodramatic, Bones? It's not like Sweets is a child psychologist, even if he is twelve himself."

"Fine," Brennan said. "I'll try to lighten up in front of her with the vocab, and the condescending arrogance, but we still need to figure out what to do to punish her, Booth. She was trying to sneak out of the Children's House. If Ms. Jansen's assistant hadn't noticed what she was doing, I-I… I'm scared. Who knows where she could go, what she might try to do?"

"Well, yeah," Booth said. "I agree about that part. We need to figure out where Tadpole thought she was going and make her understand that she's in trouble for her little great escape attempt. But, the trick is to not make too much of a big deal out of it. If we freak out, she's devious enough she'll file that away for future reference when she wants to get a rise out of us."

"You'd really think she'd do something like that?" Brennan said, leaning into Booth's frame.

"Yeah," Booth said. "I mean, I don't want to beat a dead horse, Bones, but it's not like you don't do that to me all the time."

Frowning, Brennan said, "Yeah, well, that's different."

"Why?"

"Because," Brennan insisted. "I'm me, and you're you, and as such, you deserve it."

Laughing, Booth said, "See? That's what I mean, Bones. You're not setting a very good example—"

This time it was Booth who was cut off as Brennan preceded to stick her tongue down his throat and prove his tactic was still just as effective turned back on him as when Booth employed it against Brennan.

"I'm sorry if I was bitchy," Brennan said, after she pulled away.

"Huh?" Booth asked, still a bit dazed from her kiss. "When?"

"Just now," Brennan said. "I just find the idea that my own behavior is once again having a potentially negative influence on Chrissy to be very disconcerting," she admitted.

"Still a bit of a sore spot?" Booth asked.

Brennan nodded.

"Don't worry, Bones," Booth said, giving her one last brief peck on the lips. "We'll figure something out. We always do, right?"

"Right—if Chrissy doesn't kill us first that is."

* * *

><p>I hadn't taken the meeting with Chrissy's teacher well. Being told by an outsider your only biological offspring is arrogant, condescending, and a snob at the simple age of three – most likely because she learned to behave that way by watching me – well, it's a bit much to take. Thus, I wasn't able to find the right moment to tell Booth about my latest doctor's appointment with Macy. I had already started taking the low hormone dosage that Macy prescribed, so my mood was probably a bit overly emotional anyway in the wake of the parent-teacher conference that brought us to her school that afternoon.<p>

By the time we got Chrissy home, Booth had to leave to go pick up Parker, who still was being moody over Booth's refusal to allow him to get a learner's permit. I started cooking dinner, and Hurricane Chrissy, rejuvenated from her afternoon siesta, was hell on wheels as I tried to get the eggplant parmesan into the oven. Suffice to say, by the time everyone had been fed, the table had been cleared, kitchen cleaned, and children put down for bed, I was exhausted. Deciding it was better to wait to talk to him until we were both in an improved mood and better frame of mind, I thought back to what Macy had said just before I left.

_Couples who conceived a child and pinpointed the conception to intense… aggressive sexual encounters differed from control groups where aggression was markedly absent from certain conception scenarios._

Hmmm… aggressive sexual encounters. It *had* been a while since Booth and I had had one of those. Maybe, just maybe, the best way to let him in on that piece of news was a demonstration. Hmmm…. Yes, there were possibilities with that one… and, besides, it had been a while since I had had a reason to go to the Hoover. Since my experience at the Academy had soured my opinion on most things related to the FBI, I had avoided the building when I could but for only the most essential work responsibilities - i.e., those usually prompted by Caroline Julian. So, maybe it was time to make a new social call, catch Booth off-guard, and see what type of aggressive sexual encounter I could initiate.

Hmmmmm….

* * *

><p>The next day - not that Brennan had come to firmly believe in signs or portents, but, since the situation that had resulted in the 'hallucination' of her mother the year before Chrissy was born, she wasn't necessarily as closed-minded as she once had been - when Booth got called in early to the Hoover for a hastily rescheduled administrative meeting, she wondered if it might be a sign that today was a good day to put Macy's suggestion into action. She further considered the appropriateness of the day when she realized how easy it had been to feed and get Chrissy dressed for preschool. On that particular morning, Chrissy had chosen not to be as difficult as normal. Indeed, she had been downright docile while Brennan got her ready for school, dropped her off, and had a late breakfast with her father at the diner. The cumulative results found Brennan being fairly de-stressed and in a good mood.<p>

The breakfast with Max had gone well, although it had started off a bit awkwardly when Max greeted her with an odd look before giving her a kiss hello. Brennan wondered if some of her attire had tipped Max off to the fact that shew as up to something. However, her father knew better than to ask for details when he complimented her on how pretty she looked in the navy blue skirt suit and ivory-colored satin camisole that she wore underneath it that was edged in Spanish lace. Brennan accepted the compliment and then told her father that she wasn't in any particular hurry to end breakfast quickly since she wasn't going into the lab after they finished eating, but was headed over to the Hoover Building. Max translated that simple statement to insinuate that whatever Brennan had planned, it involved his little girl and Booth, and that he was probably much happier not knowing the details. Brennan had already told Cam that she would be late to the lab that day, as she didn't anticipate arriving until after lunch. Her personal - and pleasurably evil plans for Booth aside - Brennan legitimately needed to stop by the Hoover to go over a deposition with Caroline over expert testimony she was supposed to give the following week in court. And, so, Brennan knew that if she timed things correctly, she would be able to ambush Booth at the Hoover and see if she might stoke the flames of Booth's libido as Macy had suggested.

What Brennan's father hadn't seen was what Brennan was wearing *underneath* her suit. There wasn't anything particularly unique about the underwire bra that pushed her breasts upward so that they accentuated what Brennan knew was one of Booth's favorite physical attributes that she possessed. There also wasn't anything extraordinary about the cream colored thong that she wore in consideration of the tight a-line skirt she wore. What was slightly unusual about her choice in accessories that day was the pair of dark black pantyhose that Brennan wore with an unusually high-heeled pair of black pumps. While her hair was styled in a simple chignon, her make up was definitely more noticeable than normal. She'd spent a fair amount of time lining her eyes in an understated, but smoky eye, and made her lashes pop with a dark, dark black mascara. As Max had noticed, Brennan did look slightly different than was usual, but not startling so - at least, she wouldn't appear too out of the ordinary but to one person. And, that one person, Brennan was quite pleased to learn after she finished her meeting with Caroline, was currently reviewing surveillance video in one of the unoccupied observation rooms. A Cheshire Cat-like grin slowly spreading on her face after she inquired of another agent, and was rewarded with such pleasing information, Brennan knew she had only one chance if she was going to catch Booth off guard and pull off her plan.

The next few minutes were a blur as she made her way to her desired location, confirmed that Booth was indeed by himself, and then steeled herself with as much bravado as possible. She knew she was taking a very big risk, a big chance that she could get both of them caught in a compromising position, but Brennan ultimately proceeded for two reasons. One, there was the larger issue of needing to try to do *something* else to make what progress she could with her desire to become pregnant, sooner rather than later. And, two, Brennan really wanted to demonstrate as much of her gratitude to Booth - for his gentle kindness, infinite patience, and reassuring support - as was possible. So, her resolve hardened, Brennan moved quickly and decisively once she made the choice to commit herself to the plan.

Everything happened fairly quickly. Brennan remembered throwing the door open, Booth's head snapping up at the disturbance, her shutting and locking the door behind her, a look of recognition and then confusion registering on Booth's face when he saw her, Brennan launching herself at where Booth was seated, and then things got sort of… hazy.

For his part, Booth had to admit that he was rarely surprised by anything Brennan did these days, so it wasn't her impromptu appearance at the Hoover that caught him off guard. What did surprise the hell out of him was what she did once she found him - specifically, but in no particular order, her throwing herself at him, tackling him hard enough that her momentum caused his chair to tip over, and they fellow to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Booth shifted for a minute, and rolled over and out of the chair, taking Brennan with him. She ended up on top of him, and he looked up at her with a concern look in her eyes.

"You okay?"

Brennan nodded, but didn't say a word. She shifted so that she slid down his torso and came to recline on her knees between his sprawled open legs while looking down at Booth with a strange glint in her eyes. She then moved her hands had come to his suit jacket, and she was clenching each side of the offensive garment in each fist. Tilting his head, Booth looked at Brennan and said, "So, ummm, are you going to let me up, or what?"

Her eyes narrowing evilly, Brennan shook her head, but still remained quiet.

Then, suddenly, using the leverage she had from where she grasped his jacket, Brennan yanked Booth forward and began to kiss him. Forcing her tongue between his lips, it took Brennan a few seconds to get Booth to respond to something that was almost as natural to him as breathing. Running her tongue along the inside of his lower teeth, she then thrust it deeper into his mouth, searching out his tongue with a ferociousness that made Booth's heart start to pound hard in overdrive. Her goal quickly found, their tongues dueled for a minute or two, until the pair started to get lightheaded from a lack of oxygen. Eventually, the need for air forced them to part. Booth, his face flushed and his chest moving up and down as he gasped for air, looked at his wife. Brennan, eyes darkened to a very deep blue, held his gaze as she struggled to catch her own breath.

At last, Booth smiled at Brennan, and in that moment, she knew that she had him because it was *her* grin that flashed at her.

"So, hello there, Bones," Booth eventually said cheekily.

"Hi, Booth," Brennan said at last.

"Ummm, so," Booth said tentatively. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but you have something you want to tell me… or are you just here to play?"

Narrowing her eyes, Brennan reached up and slowly unclasped the buttons of her jacket. Adroitly shrugging out of it, she then quickly pulled her camisole over her head and tossed it to the side. Booth's eyes were riveted to her chest as he stared at her heaving breasts in abject adoration. In a very sultry voice, Brennan said, "What do you think, Booth?"

"I think you're gonna do something that could result in me getting fired if you do what I think you're gonna to do next, Bones," Booth told her hoarsely.

Brennan seemed to consider his words, and then nodded. "You know what? Yeah, you're probably right, Booth."

Releasing her hold on his jacket, Brennan pushed herself up from her knees, hastily bent to retrieve her camisole and jacket and was shrugging into them as she walked to the opposite side of the room.

"Uh, hey, Bones?" Booth called. When he saw she wasn't stopping, Booth scrambled to his feet. "Hey! Wait a minute, Bones. Where do you think you're going?"

He punctuated his final words as he lightly grabbed her arm. Brennan spun around and looked at him. The look that he had seen in her eyes just a couple of minutes before had already intensified as she cocked her head at him and said, "Now, Booth. You know better than that."

"Better than what?"

"You know I don't like it when you grab my arm like that," Brennan said, her voice thick with desire.

Still uncertain what in the hell Brennan was doing, Booth followed his instinct as he said, "So?" He then added, somewhat cockily, "You say that like it's supposed to mean something to me or what, Bones?"

Quickly, Brennan dropped her jacket and camisole, and twisted her arm from Booth's. He gently, but firmly, held onto it, and Brennan countered by launching herself against Booth. The pair stumbled back until Booth was with his back against the far wall of the observation room. Pressing herself up against him, Brennan leaned in and sought his mouth again. The pair began to kiss once more, and this time, it was Booth who moved his hands to the hem of Brennan's skirt, pushing it up around her waist. Booth pulled away only for a few seconds as he glanced down at the pantyhose when he felt the barrier to what he very much wanted to touch at that current moment. Taking pity on her husband, Brennan shifted so that she could push the pantyhose down her legs. When Booth saw the thong, he cocked an eyebrow at her and said, "What are you trying to do to me, Bones?"

Brennan leaned in as she whispered in-between nibbling on his ear lobe, "I'm trying to provide you with sufficient motivation to have sex with me, Booth."

"Here?" Booth asked incredulously. "Now?"

"I can leave if you want," Brennan said. "But, when I attempted to do that a few minutes ago, your response seemed to indicate that you didn't prefer that particular outcome."

Leaning his neck down, Booth pressed his lips into the crevice formed by Brennan's up-thrust breasts. Alternating between kissing and sucking, he finally managed to mutter, "I'm not quite certain why you started this, Bones, but we're damn well going to finish it. You don't get to just come in here like that, do what you did, and expect to get away with it."

Brennan laughed a throaty chuckle as she said, "Believe me, Booth. Me getting away with it is precisely the *last* thing I wanted to achieve when I initiated this little encounter between us-"

Her husband chose that moment not to respond with words, but with actions. He took the opportunity to thrust slightly into her so that Brennan could feel how aroused he already was by her attentions. Brennan whimpered a bit, as she tugged at his belt buckle and pants. Somehow, someway, they managed to get the pants pushed down and his boxers fell with them. Unencumbered, and now able to maneuver them into a position that they both so desperately wanted, Booth let his hand roam underneath the hem of her skirt again.

"Booth-" she moaned, feeling his hands go up her thighs and to caress the swell of her hips and other more curvy portions of her luscious female anatomy. Brennan heard him groan and immediately knew he had realized what type of panties she was wearing.

"God, Bones-"

"Now," she pleaded. "God, please, Booth. I need-"

He pulled back at her, a glint finally coming into his eyes, and Brennan felt a mental yell of jubilant pleasure echo in her mind, as she recognized the look for what it was - what she hadn't seen in quite some time, and what she had hoped to bait out of Booth in the crazy plan that she had hatched at Macy's suggestion.

"What do you need, Bones?" Booth grunted.

"You," she pleaded, twisting against him slightly, grinding her hips against him in an effort to stave of the point at which he would reduce her to a writhing mass of satiated warmth with his very detailed ministrations. "God," she whispered. "Please, inside me, now."

His timing couldn't have been more perfect as her narration seemed to coincide with her words. In was over fairly quickly after that. A few moments later, her back pressed against the far wall of the interrogation room, her left leg still hooked around Booth's hip, Brennan looked up at him, the madness that had fallen over both of them seeming to retrieve.

Since he had called out her name in a moan that had always been music to Brennan's ears, Booth hadn't said a word until he now uttered the first intelligible string of words that had passed between them in several minutes. "You good?"

Brennan nodded slowly, letting her leg fall down the back of his legs and to the ground. Booth didn't pull away until he was certain she could support her own weight. Looking up at her with a playful grin and his eyes shining full of mirth, Booth shook his head and said with a chuckle, "Damn, Bones. I don't know what in the hell brought that on, but, whatever it was-just, wow."

She smiled at him, and then said, "I know it was risky, but there actually is a method to my madness, Booth."

He glanced at his watch and then said, "We should get dressed. It's only been a few minutes, but it'd be better if we don't take any chances, huh?"

Brennan nodded in agreement. They hastily retrieved various pieces of clothing and quickly pulled them on to make themselves more presentable.

At last, when slightly rumpled, but none the worse for wear, Booth bent and retrieved the chair that was still tipped over to set it in its upright position. He then gestured for Brennan to sit down in the chair next to him as he said, "So, do I want to hear the method to your madness?"

Laughing, Brennan reached over and kissed Booth lightly on the lips. "Probably not."

"Okay," Booth laughed.

Nodding, Brennan said, "Just remind me to give you this journal article when we get home tonight. I think it'll explain it all much more coherently than I might be able to do so at the current minute."

"Sure," Booth replied with a nod. "So-"

Suddenly, the intimacy that had settled between the two was shattered at Booth's phone rang. Reaching for the cell phone from where it vibrated on the table, Booth took one look and then nodded at her as he said, "It's the lab."

"Take it," Brennan advised.

Opening the phone, Booth's brow furrowed in uncertainty. Most of his responses were one word questions and answers that made little sense to Brennan. After a minute or two, he said goodbye and ended the call. Setting the phone down on the table, Booth looked at Brennan and said, "That was Angela. We need to get over to the lab, right now."

"Why?" Brennan asked, stifling the impulse to feel annoyed that Angela had called Booth and not her first. "What is it?"

A stunned look had settled over Booth's face. It took him a minute before he looked up at her, and merely said, "Ummm, Wendall was able to fix that part of the mandible that Angela needed to be able to attempt a reconstruction. She did it this morning, and she thinks she may have a lead on the identity of who the Jane Doe from San Diego is."

Nodding, Brennan didn't see why such news would shock Booth, but she didn't press him as she asked, "Can you give me a ride?"

"Yeah, sure," Booth said, as he stood. Waiting for Brennan to gather her things, he unconsciously guided her to the door with his hand on the small of her back.

The pair didn't say another word until they arrived at the Jeffersonian. Brennan knew there was something Booth wasn't telling her, but she didn't pry since logic meant that she'd find out soon enough. And, find out soon enough was exactly what she did as soon as they walked into the lab, and Angela told them what she thought she had discovered - and, for the first time in Brennan's life, she really wished her best friend wasn't as good a graphic artist as she always turned out to be.

* * *

><p>Even as Angela's facial reconstruction stared back at me, the very familiar face smiling back at me from the Angelator, I was too dumbstruck to process the information. Like Booth's earlier reaction when Angela had told him over the phone what she thought she had found, I was just too shocked to comprehend what I was seeing. But, there really couldn't be any mistake as to the identity of the woman whose familiar face was staring back at me. The Jane Doe from San Diego, the woman who had been so viciously murdered, her skeleton smashed into a thousand pieces and then dumped in a concrete foundation to never be discovered again, was a woman who I hadn't seen in years. But, I knew her very, very well, because in a way, without my fear of losing Booth to her, I never would have gone to Afghanistan as Andi Anderson several years earlier. I never would've gotten myself embedded in Booth's unit, finally allowed myself to admit my feelings for him, or embark on a sexual relationship with him. I never would've continued that relationship once we both returned to DC, and I never would've gotten pregnant with Chrissy, which ultimately led to the formation of our current family unit.<p>

Yes, this woman had played a pivotal role in the conception of my daughter, my subsequent marriage to Booth, and the creation of our family, even though I hadn't seen her since that July night when I had marched into Booth's apartment. I had marched in, seen a drunk Booth about to have sex with her, promptly yanked her up off of his lap and tossed her on her ass out the front door before I claimed that privilege myself.

I still remember the opened mouth look of awe she had as I tossed her white bolero purse and beige peep-toe stiletto heels into the hallway after her. And, as I started at Angela's reconstruction, I remembered my final words to her, too.

"_Now, let's be clear. Professionally, I find you to be an adequate journalist… and I do hope this little exchange won't impair our ability to work together in a professional manner. But, if I ever find you anywhere near Booth again, I will demonstrate to you several very unpleasant ways in which I can break just about every goddamn bone in your stupid, shallow, self-centered, self-involved dumb blonde slut of a body. I have planned the perfect murder before, Hannah. I know what I need to do to kill you, bury your body so that not so much as a bone chip is found, and get away with it. Do we understand each other? Good. Now, get lost."_

I slammed the door on her face after that, distracted as I was by needed to tell Booth about the baby and force the angry confrontation that was so desperately needed to clear the air between us that I never gave her a second thought. Even though her name had occasionally come up over the years, such as when I had been subpoenaed to testify before the Congressional subcommittee or talked to John, until that very moment, I hadn't really given her a serious second thought. And, when I finally did, it was slightly macabre in its nature.

Yes, apparently she had taken my words to heart, literally, and had gotten lost - apparently, in an ironic twist, after someone had beat me to the punch in fulfilling my threat to her. They had killed her, buried her body, and for a time, not so much as a bone chip had been found… at least until a month ago when Booth and I had been called in to investigate the case. Up until that point - because Booth and I *always* solve our murders - someone had probably thought that they had finally gotten rid of Hannah Burley for good, and gotten away with the perfect murder. And, now, *now* I had to be the one to solve her murder and prove her killer wrong.

Me? I have to avenge Hannah Burley's death? What a joke. What an ironic, horrible joke. More over… well, just-God, that sucks. That just really, really sucks.

-DELETE-

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	7. Ch 6:The Laws of Physics

From the Non-Existent Journal of Dr. Temperance Brennan

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: stares:: ::blinks:: ::stares again:: Yeah. I still don't own anything…but, you knew that from the stares, right?

Summary: Brennan's secret life as a reporter for the Associated Press catches up to her & threatens her safety in a way she never anticipated. AU.

Author's Note: I know that a lot of this story seems, so far, to revolve around Booth and Brennan and sexy (at least, somewhat) situations—probably more than I'd originally anticipated. So, for those who don't enjoy that type of stuff too much ::blinks suspiciously:: —well, this will probably be the last of it for a while. But, the good news for those who _do _enjoy this type of stuff—well, this chapter is rated M for a very, very good reason. Those who are not of age or don't jive with the hot sexiness need go no further. Please exit stage left. And, for those who do—well, proceed at your own risk…but, like B&B, I do hope that you...enjoy. :)~

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><p>Chapter 6 – "The Laws of Physics"<p>

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><p><span>Quote<span>: "To what? Breaking the laws of physics?

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><p>-OPEN WORD DOCUMENT-<p>

Given the choice between the two options—having to concentrate on the efforts that would culminate in Chrissy's behavior modifications, or, having to focus on avenging Hannah Burley's death by solving her murder… well, okay, I admit it. I took the lesser of two evils and decided to focus on my daughter.

It's not that I didn't _want_ to solve Hannah's murder. After all, the more quickly that I could get the circumstances of her murder solved, the more quickly I would be able to get that entire period of my life finally squared away—neatly compartmentalized in the past where it belonged. Indeed, I was never one for dwelling on the past, and I just wanted what had already happened to be over and done with—there were too many important things in the future on which I needed to concentrate the full focus of my energies. Booth, Parker, Chrissy, and our new baby—that is, if I could ever get done what I needed to get done on _that _front.

But, for now, I did want to concentrate on Chrissy's behavior modifications. She hadn't taken well to the changes we instigated after having met with the principal of her Montessori school. It was, also, proving to be a bit of a trying time for me since, per Booth's theory, I had to modify _my _behavior since Chrissy seemed to have decided to model much of her own actions on what she observed from me. Overall, the changes we made had been subtle, and she'd been responding to them well, but for the punishment she received for trying to sneak out of school.

As an aside, I'm _still _scared out of my metaphorical mind as to what might've happened if she'd actually gotten away that morning when she tried to leave the pre-school. When Chrissy was finally asked what she wanted to do in the events that had culminated with her attempted Great Escape, she'd explained to Booth how she was 'bored, wanted to explore, learn, and be like Mommy'. I think he took a bit hard—or, at least, his ego did, given how her words basically confirmed her principal's opinion that our daughter had imprinted on me, as opposed to him, in looking for a model in how to pattern her behavior. I don't think, logically, that it shouldn't have surprised Booth, especially given the points he'd made himself about similarities in children of one gender patterning themselves after the co-responding parent. But, I still do think the truth of it bothered him a bit. However, wonderful man that he is, he shrugged it off and then helped me do what he needed to do to punish Chrissy.

That punishment hit her particularly hard once we dealt it out to impress upon her the severity of the situation—a loss of all of her stuffed animals for two weeks but for the stuffed tadpole that she'd had from Booth since she was an infant and slept with every night. We couldn't think of how else to hit her, in Booth's words, where it would proverbially hurt the most. However, since the stuffed animals also served as both her best friends and a captive audience with which she liked to 'play school', it seemed the most appropriate way to convey the necessary impetus to help her modify her behavior. At first, the temper tantrum she threw was significant. However, after spewing a number of quite impressive words from her ever-increasing vocabulary that conveyed her disagreement with our decision, and her displeasure was at the actual decision itself in all the negative invectives she spewed. But, eventually, our daughter quieted. Her tears lessened. Her little red face, swollen and tear streaked, eventually calmed as cried herself to sleep. Like it normally is, the first night was the worst. But, after several days, we _did _eventually begin to see some improvement in her behavior. As much as I loathed the idea of admitting that the psychologists might have some verisimilitude when it came to children's behavior, the subtle change in Chrissy's attitude seemed to offer some evidence in support of their theories.

Such was the state of our family as the beginning of the second week in November approached, and with it, both Booth's birthday and our wedding anniversary. And, so, for one night on Veteran's Day—in celebration of commemorating both events, I set aside the weariness of our personal parenting responsibilities and the pressing nature of our professional investigative duties regarding Hannah's murder—and concentrated on the needs of our relationship first.

And, wow—what a night that ended up being.

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><p>After a very enjoyable evening that had been spent at a wonderful restaurant, feeling very satiated as far as food and drink were concerned, but quite amorous, Brennan gave her husband a very familiar smile that clearly told him that she had only one thing on her mind.<p>

"Bedroom," she had murmured into his ear as soon as they had arrived at their apartment. It was late, and all was quiet, and she couldn't help herself as she allowed his wonderful smell of mint and citrus to wash over her. "Now, Booth."

"Patience," he chuckled, leaning into her. "Give me just a few minutes to check the kids, and then I'm all yours, Bones."

"Better be," she murmured as he locked the door behind them. Dropping her purse on the entryway table, Booth did the same with his badge, keys, and cell phone. Watching him as he quickly secured his gun, when Booth turned and gave her a wink, Brennan felt a sudden flutter in the pit of her stomach. "Don't keep me waiting, Booth."

"Two minutes," he said with a nod as he raised his hand and extended two digits to illustrate his point. "Just give me two minutes just to make certain that everything's locked down, and I'll meet you in our bedroom."

With a small sigh, Brennan reluctantly agreed. "Fine. Two minutes. But, no more."

"Deal," he said with a playful grin on his lips.

Approximately 180 seconds later, good as his word, Booth sauntered into their bedroom, his bright brown eyes lapping up the sight of his beautiful wife as she stood in their bedroom, obviously and impatiently waiting for him.

Watching her for a minute, Booth couldn't help but grin as he shared a small detail of which he was already quite well aware. "You're drunk, Bones," Booth laughed as he watched her sway in front of their bed.

"Am not," came the quick reply. Booth narrowed his eyes at her, and then Brennan amended her earlier statement. "I'm just a little…tipsy."

"A little, huh?" he said as he watched her hips undulate as if there was some music to which she was listening, but that he couldn't hear. "Just a little?"

Looking over at him, she extended her hand and gestured at him with her index finger. "Just enough," she said with a nod. "Now, come here. Dance with me."

"Mmmmm, I dunno, Bones. You sure you aren't going to fall over if you start to move?" Booth chuckled.

"I'm not drunk," Brennan repeated, a bit of ire creeping into her voice. "Now, come here, Booth. I want to dance with the birthday boy."

Looking at her as if she were causing some great imposition on him, he reluctantly came over and said, "If it's my birthday, how come you get to boss me around?"

"Because," Brennan said, taking her hand and threading her fingers in between his. "Two reasons. First, you like it. Second, tonight's not just about celebrating your birthday remember? Technically, it's my anniversary, too, so I get to have some say in things."

As Booth pulled her taut against his body, and they started to sway together, he moved his lips to her ear and said quietly, "Don't you always?"

"No," Brennan mumbled. "You don't always let me spend money on you like you did tonight."

"The guy already had the bottle of bubbly popped. What was I supposed to do, send it back?" Booth asked.

Tilting her head away from his, Brennan chuckled. "I thought you might. Especially when you saw it was Dom Perignon."

"Hmmmm," Booth said as his hands fell to Brennan's hips. He then pulled away from her just enough so that she could see him smile as he told her, "Okay, I did consider it, but—"

"But?" Brennan laughed.

"But, it would've been a waste of good booze, and as that's an unforgivable sin, I did the horribly honorable thing by suffering through letting the guy in the penguin suit pour it for us," Booth said.

"And, the second bottle?" Brennan asked as she brought her hands up and wrapped them lightly around his neck. "What about that one?"

"I kinda figured we were in for the penny in for the pound by that point, Bones," Booth replied. "Plus, it _was _really good."

"I like it when you do that," Brennan said with a soft sigh.

"Do what?" he responded, continuing to move lightly, their two bodies pressed up against one another.

"Let me spend money on you," Brennan said. "I like being able to spend money on you—make you happy."

"You do make me happy," Booth told her honestly. "And, two years ago, you made me one of the happiest guys on the planet."

"It doesn't seem like it was two years ago," Brennan murmured, leaning into him. "It's gone by so fast, Booth."

"Yeah, time kinda does that, Bones," he said quietly.

"I love you," she said, letting her fingers run back and forth up from the base of his skull across the occipital bone of his cranium and up to his parietal bone. "I really love you."

"I know, Bones," Booth said. "And, I love you, too. I love you even more now that I'm a Capitals season ticket holder."

"You like them?" Brennan asked, pulling away slightly. "I know you've said in the past that it makes you feel like a 'kept man', but I like being able to spend my money on things that make you happy, Booth."

"If you'd gotten me box seats I would've grumbled… a bit," Booth told her seriously.

"I know," Brennan admitted. "That's why I got you a pair of seats sufficiently far enough away from the ice so as to not offend your masculine sensibilities, but still as to provide you with an excellent vantage point from which you can view the games."

"Well, they aren't quite Euchre seats, but you're right—I can sit in them, watch the games, and not feel too guilty since all I got you was—" Booth was cut off as Brennan suddenly moved her mouth to his lips.

The kiss was sweet...brief, but tantalizing in its promise of what was to come. When she pulled away after a few seconds, Brennan smiled at him as she said, "You taste like champagne."

"Mmmm, so do you," Booth murmured.

"Booth," Brennan replied, a light coming into her eyes as she realized something that her husband had been keeping from her.

"Yeah, Bones?"

"I'm not the only one who's slightly inebriated, am I?" Brennan chuckled lightly. "And, more over, this was all a part of your plan, wasn't it? That's why you didn't want to drive tonight? You insisted that we take a cab—"

"I'm not drunk," Booth insisted, biting back a grin at his wife's discovery. "And, I didn't do anything nefarious, Bones. I just wanted to keep our options open."

"Options?" Brennan replied. "Such as in the option of you getting drunk?"

"I'm _not _drunk," Booth repeated.

Brennan gave him a knowing look as she said, "I seem to have heard that one some where previously—"

Booth chuckled. "Okay, so maybe we're both a bit—"

"Tipsy, I believe was the appropriate word, was it not?" Brennan finished the sentence for him.

"Mmmm," Booth said. "Tipsy is good."

"Tipsy _can_ be good," Brennan said. "Depending on what you do while you're inhibitions are lowered."

"Well," Booth said, stepping away just far enough so that he could give her an appreciative leer. "I'm thinking that something would include me stripping you of that little blue dress you're in and seeing what type of trouble we can get into—"

Brennan tilted her head and pushed her hair off to one side with one hand while she lifted the other. "The zipper is on the side. Help me."

Booth didn't have to be told twice as he came forward and quickly unzipped the hidden zipper that suddenly revealed a whisper of the dark blue satin and lace of Brennan's chemise. He didn't have long to appreciate the tantalizing glimpse before it was revealed in all its glory when Brennan took both of her hands, tugged the dress up over her head, and casually tossed it away from the pair. She stepped out of her matching satin pumps, kicked them aside, and then stalked towards Booth in her bare feet wearing the satin slip and matching lingerie underneath it.

"We have to be quiet," Brennan told him. "Remember, my dad couldn't take Chrissy," she reminded him.

"And, Parker," Booth murmured as he watched his wife walk towards him provocatively, the slight sway of her hips making his mouth go dry and another part of his anatomy get very hard. "We owe Becks, by the way—since she let me have Parker for the night to babysit the Tadpole."

"I'll send her a fruit basket in gratitude," Brennan said, as she came over and ran her hands palm down up from the waistline of Booth's suit trousers up along his chest, and hooked over his shoulders. With a gentle movement, she helped push the black suit jacket off of Booth's shoulders. It fell to the ground with a slight _whoosh_ that neither Booth nor Brennan noticed or cared. "One of the _really_ nice ones."

Smiling at him, her fingers came to rest at the top of each of his shoulders. She slid her fingers under the dark black suspenders that he wore with a lascivious grin. "I normally much prefer you in the suit and tie, but I have to admit, if you were going to forgo the tie as you did tonight, these make a nice substitute." Brennan punctuated her words with a sharp flick of her wrist as she let the suspenders snap at his shoulders.

Groaning at her touch, Booth complained lightly, "Bones—"

"Yes, Booth?" she grinned back at him.

"The hockey tickets were for my birthday, right?" he half-moaned as he inhaled the scent of her hair—the tingly scent of the fruity hairspray she had used in greater amounts than normal to style her hair for the special occasion tickled his nose.

She gave a slight nod as his hands came up along her sides in an up and down pattern. "Yes."

"Then, for my anniversary present, I only want one thing," Booth said, increasing the speed as he rubbed up and down her torso in a steady motion that made her start to blink from double vision.

"But, the dinner was—" she began to explain lamely.

"All I want for my anniversary," Booth repeated, his voice firm and seductive, "is for you… to come and sit in my lap."

Forcing her eyes open, Brennan blinked at him several times in a daze as she looked at the delicious sight of him—hair mussed from her earlier ministrations, standing in his darkest black suit trousers. The severity of his dark blue shirt—accurately described as a French blue color completely unrelated to the fact that the button down shirt came with French cuffs that he had long ago rolled up—was mitigated by the casualness of the three open buttons at his collar and the simple black suspenders. Finally, she nodded as she took his hand and let him lead her to their bed.

Positioning himself comfortably on the side of the bed, Booth let his legs dangle over the edge. He quickly kicked off his dress loafers and socks and then gestured for Brennan to come closer to him. "Come here, Bones."

As if drawn to him in a slight trance, Brennan let him position her between his open knees. The dark blue chemise she'd worn under the rather sheer but simple a-line dress was a pretty garment in and of itself. Embroidered with an overlay of black thread, the piece wasn't designed to inflame male desire. However, the outline of her bra had thrust Brennan's breasts upward, and Booth stared at them in appreciation. His hands came up to lightly cup her breasts through the slick material of the satin slip as he squeezed them ever so lightly in appreciation through the smooth fabric and her bra.

As soon as he touched her, Brennan whimpered a bit. However, Booth knew the myriad of sounds his wife could and did make in bed—and he knew that _that_ particular whimper wasn't a good sound.

"What is it?" he asked, the concern clearly evident in his voice.

"Nothing," Brennan said, just a bit too quickly. Plastering a smile on her face, she nodded at him. "It's nothing, Booth."

"Liar," he said instantly, letting his hands fall away from her breasts. They came to rest on the top of her thighs as he asked, "Tell me. Please?"

Twisting her head to look at him from over her shoulder, Brennan shook her head. "It's stupid."

"I don't care," he insisted. "Tell me anyway."

"It's just since I started the Clomid, one of the rather minor side effects has been some extreme tenderness in my breasts so they're just a bit more…sensitive than normal," she explained with a shake of her head. "I told you, it's stupid."

Bringing his hands up to wrap them around her torso, Booth gave her a light hug as he then pressed a light kiss at the crook of her neck. "It's not stupid. I just wish you'd told me."

"There's nothing to be concerned about," Brennan reassured him, letting her head lull to the side. "I'm fine."

"I still wish you weren't taking that crap," Booth said, his voice still husky with desire. When Brennan had told him about the mild dosage of the fertility drug she'd bullied her doctor into giving her, he hadn't liked it. However, because he knew how hard Brennan was taking their lack of ability to conceive a second child like some personal failure or shortcoming on her own part, he'd grudgingly acceded to her wish and supported her since she'd told him about the choice she'd made to go on the drug.

"I know," she said. "But, what's done is done—"

"I know, I know," Booth sighed. "I just…well, you can't blame me if we end up with something crazy like twins on this one, Bones."

Brennan narrowed her eyes as she said playfully, "Conception of twins would necessitate us actually having sex, Booth. Since there seems to have been a delay in the countdown in that endeavor, I'm currently not too concerned over the matter."

Rolling his eyes at her taunt, Booth nodded. "Fine. You want to take care of any delays, Bones? Then how about you stand up and loose the slip, huh?"

A twinkle in her eye, Brennan pushed herself up out of his lap. Turning around to face him, she reached down with both hands as she pulled at the hem of the chemise, tugged it up over her head, and let to fall to the floor in a whisper of hushed satin. Standing clad before him in a light blue pushup bra and a light blue pair of high-cut satin string bikinis, Brennan nodded at him. "Better?"

"Much," Booth said as he licked his lips in both appreciation and anticipation of the sight before him. "Much, _much_ better."

"Good—"

"Now, come here, would ya?" he grinned at her.

Sauntering towards him with a rather sexy look on her face, Brennan moved to cover her body with his.

However, Booth shook his head slightly in response to her overture as he said, "No."

"What?" she asked, the sexy look that just had been on her face turning in a slight look of confusion.

"Nothing," Booth said, giving her a reassuring grin. "Just… come sit in my lap, huh?"

"Hmmmmm," Brennan said. "You're not going to tell me why?"

"Nope," he said, a grin coming onto his face. "But, if you trust me, I promise you'll like it."

Shaking her head at him in an indulgent way, Brennan watched as Booth scooted back a bit further into the middle of their bed. He opened his legs so that there was enough room for her to sit on the edge of the bed with her legs hanging off, almost but not quite touching the ground.

Gesturing to her with his index finger, Booth repeated his earlier entreaty. "Come 'ere," he said, his voice growing gravely with lust as he admired the curves of his wife's form as the bra and panties accentuated some of her best features.

Turning so that her back was to his chest, she shivered slightly when she settled against him and felt the roughness of his stubbled chin against the soft crook of her neck when he rested it on her shoulder.

"God, I love you," he whispered. "I love you," he breathed into her ear, the warm moisture of his husky breath causing the tiny hairs on the back of her neck to stand up straight on end as he began to trail a delicious string of wet kisses along the curve of her neck. "Love you," he whispered in a slight chant in between each kiss he gave her. "Love you."

When his lips encountered the irksome barrier of her right bra strap, he growled a bit in annoyance, but slowed his movements.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said softly, his voice hoarse with want. "Tell me what to do."

"Fuck it," Brennan said, her hand coming up to rest against the side of his head as she dug her fingers into the back of his scalp. "Take it off."

"You sure?' he asked, his tongue darting out to draw a parallel line to where the strap fell over the curve of her shoulder.

"Yes," she hissed at the rough nature of his pebbled and wet tongue as it rolled over the smoothness of her creamy skin. "God, yes."

Moving her other hand, she gently pulled the strap away and shrugged one arm out of it in impatience.

"Booth—" she whispered softly.

"Yeah, Bones?" came the graveled reply.

"Touch me," she encouraged him. "Now, touch me."

Never one to have to be told twice where sex and Brennan was concerned, Booth pulled away from her just enough so that he could unclasp the bra. He pulled it taut against her chest once before he let it fall away from Brennan. Her breasts, no longer constrained by the confines of the flowing material, bounced free. Looking at her from over the curve of her shoulder, Booth couldn't help it as he again smacked his lips in anticipation. Her nipples had already transitioned from their normal dark rose colored pinkiness to a more swarthy perfection as they stood rigid thanks to the beginning stirrings of her arousal and the fact that she knew Booth was looking at them and ached to touch them, but was holding back. As he saw the darkness of her areolae, compared to the flushed beauty of her pale skin, Booth knew he wouldn't be able to help himself if he moved in any direction near her tender breasts.

Almost as if she sensed what he was thinking, she said, "You can touch me." As she spoke, Brennan was surprised at how throaty her voice sounded when she actually managed to string enough coherent thoughts together to finish a simple sentence. _God, what you do to me, Booth_, the rogue thought echoed in her head. _Even after all these years_, _you can still reduce my vocabulary to that of Chrissy's level with just one look. God, I love you_—

Leaning in, Booth pressed his still clothed chest against Brennan's naked back. She inhaled quickly as she felt the roughness of his cotton shirt and the stiff material of his suspenders brush against her soft skin. Tilting his head, Booth moved his face so that his lips fell against the opposite side of her neck. "I _am_ touching you," he pointed out.

"But—" she began to protest, her cry of displeasure catching in her throat.

Reaching up, he nipped her earlobe with a slight movement that again caused her to hiss at the pleasurable pain of his touch. Booth's tongue darted out as he moved his wet touch over the lower curve of her ear and then whispered, "Don't want to hurt you," he said. "And, I can't help myself if I go near those luscious tits of yours with my mouth, Bones."

"Then," she said as she arched her back into his chest, loving the delicious feel of the suspenders against her skin, "Touch me somewhere else."

Moving his mouth lower, Booth found the pulse point of her throat and knew Brennan's heart was beating extremely fast as he said, "Any suggestions?"

Reaching up, as Brennan suddenly remembered that Booth's hands were still wrapped lightly around her waist, she took his hands in hers and guided them in a wonderfully torturous slide of his palms across the softness of her belly to the center of her navel. His palms rested lightly on her stomach for a minute before she opened her own legs a bit wider. When the tops of his fingertips just touched the smooth waistband of the satin blue panties she still wore, she pulled her own hands away with great reluctance. But, knowing she trusted her husband to touch her as he knew she loved to be touched, Brennan brought her own arms back up at they wrapped around his head. Her fingers interlaced at the base of his skull, the short hairs of his spiky haircut feeling wonderful in their hard softness as they stood straight up thanks to the gel he always used to style his hair. Turning her face to meet his, her head suddenly found his eager lips by way of an answer.

They came together in softness at first, his lips pressed to hers in a tenderly familiar touch. However, neither one of them patient where the other was concerned, all too soon the chaste kiss gave way to something more dangerous. Booth opened his mouth a bit wider and nudged hers to grant him entrance. All too ready for him, as soon as his tongue plunged into her mouth, it met hers in a greedy tousle. As her tongue slid over the edge of his taste buds, he swore that he could taste the salty, sweet, and sourness all in one tart moment of perfection as their kiss deepened. Brennan groaned at the kiss, and Booth's mouth swallowed her groan as he opened his mouth wider and continued to twist his tongue in rhythm with hers. Pulling back slightly, his closed his mouth a bit as he pulled her top lip between his teeth and sucked on it like it was a sweet piece of hard candy that only became sweeter the more his tongue twirled around it.

At last, the necessity to breathe pulled them apart, and Brennan winced as she felt her tits ache from the heaviness of longing for Booth and the way they'd bounced as her chest rose and fell, filling itself with vital air with each mouthful of oxygen she sucked down into her lungs. She also resented the lack of attention from her husband's wonderful mouth, but that wrong was quickly righted as he moved to distract her with another way that his body could pleasure hers.

The calloused fingertips of his hands lightly pulled at the waistband of her panties for only the briefest of seconds before he let his hands creep inside the silky depths concealed by the panties' satin perfection. Following a well-worn path from the top of her warm folds, through the moist softness of her curls, Booth used one hand to trace the left side of her labia from top to bottom and back again as his right hand mirrored his efforts on the opposite side. Given the fact that she'd already been aroused from the moment Booth unzipped her dress, neither one of them was surprised when her excitement grew as he continued to touch her. A fresh rush of wetness covered his fingers as Booth resisted the temptation to part her slit, and Brennan moaned as she leaned back into him.

"Booth," she murmured, speaking his name as if it were a sacred chant on the wind. "Ohhh, Booth."

"God," he moaned into her ear, her warmth gathering on his finger tips in a thick coating that almost seamed to burn him the closer he came to touching her in the only place that Brennan wanted his fingers in that moment, and the sensations began to drive him out of his mind. "Oh, God, Bones—"

"What?" she breathed.

"I thought…I thought I could wait," he said, his fingers retreating a bit in that moment to rest at the top of her mons, drawing small circles around her clitoris. Brennan closed her eyes as she moaned in pleasure at his touch. "I wanted to make you come first."

Wiggling her ass against him, Brennan felt the sigh escape from Booth's lips as she felt his straining erection press into her bottom.

"No," she whispered, moving her hands for the first time in several long minutes. "I can't wait—we can't wait for that," she breathed. As she gently brushed his hands away from her pelvis, Brennan turned around and pushed Booth onto the bed, climbing on top of him as she went.

"Oh, God, Bones—" he moaned, as her warm body, already pulsing with its own energy, slithered up his still clothed and tightly restrained form.

Reaching down, she grinned as she shifted so that she straddled him, one knee on either side of his hips, reached down, and ran her fingers underneath the taut line of his black suspenders. Giving them a sharp snap, Booth's eyes focused on hers in disbelief. They'd already darkened into a black so deep that Brennan doubted that a star could pierce the inky blankness of the evening sky if it became as dark as the way Booth's irises stared at her now.

"Stop that," he rasped, his hands coming up to cup either side of her face as he pulled her down to his face in a hungry kiss.

However, when Brennan's tits pressed against Booth's, her sensitivity already heightened by both the fertility drug side effects and her arousal, she cried out in a moan that was somewhere between pleasure and pain.

"Booth," she whimpered. "Please, _ahhhh_, please, help me."

"Oh, Bones," he moaned into her kiss.

"I'm…I'm in trouble, Booth," she moaned. "Need you—now…I need you so badly."

"Tell me what to do," he groaned. "Tell me."

"I want you," she murmured. "_Ahh_…_ahhhh_….._ahhhhhh_. I want you, Booth. I want you so badly that it's killing me."

"I need to be inside you," he whispered, moving his head to her ear. "Now."

"Yes," she agreed as he rolled them so that Brennan as underneath them, and he was on top. "God, yes. I need you. I can't think about anything else but you, Booth—inside me."

"I need to hold you," he whispered, poised above her as he began to hurriedly undress. Practically ripping his French blue shirt off his body, several white buttons popped in Booth's frenzied efforts to get his clothing off of his body as quickly as possible. "I need to touch you and to smell you," he breathed as the blue shirt came mercifully off his body. His large hands fumbled with the belt buckle at his waist but in a matter of seconds, it too came free as he popped the buttons on his suit trousers off and hastily pushed the pants and his boxers down and off his hips in one fluid movement. "I need to taste you, Bones—I need to feel you. Now, right now."

Looking up, Brennan met his gaze, not certain where this frenzy had fallen upon them from as he lifted on leg and then the other to push away what was left of his clothing. Soon, his slightly suntanned body loomed over hers, and Brennan felt her arousal increase, the familiar buzzing in her stomach beginning to hum steadily louder and more strongly with each second that passed. Emanating from her hot and tight center, it traveled all the way to the tips of her toes, and back again, Brennan knew she was already cresting towards a climax and that it wouldn't take much on Booth's part to push her over the edge.

"Hurry," she encouraged him. "I'm so close already."

"Wait for me," he almost begged, the plea in his normally strong voice almost undoing her in that moment with its tenderness. "Please, wait for me."

"I'll try," she said with a nod. "But, hurry."

Leveling his lust-filled gaze at her, Booth nodded as he said with a half-growl. "Trust me?"

"Always," she nodded with a shining and true stare. "Always, Booth."

Nodding once, he reached down and slid an arm under Brennan's back. Helping her arch her back off the bed, he said softly, "Roll over."

After a few seconds of awkward shuffling, Brennan suddenly found herself upright in the middle of their bed on all fours. She felt Booth peel the soaked fabric of her panties off her hips, over the curve of her ass, and let them bunch at her knees. The feel of the tight fabric against her hypersensitive skin was almost too much in that second, but her head hung down limply as she concentrated only on staying up right. She feared that she might pass out from pleasure when she felt the tip of Booth's hard cock trace the swollen crevice of her wet slit.

Pulling back slightly, Booth almost came in that moment at the sight of her perfect ass upthrust at him, waiting for his attentions. However, closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths as he tried to focus himself. As he did so, almost as if his hands had a find of their own, one of his hands came to lightly wrap around his swollen cock as he pumped himself—once, twice, three times in anticipation.

"Booth," she suddenly cried out. Unable to see what was going on, all Brennan knew was that she couldn't wait any longer. "Ahhh, please, Booth…need you—need you now. Right now."

"More?" he gasped.

"Yes," she hissed. "Always—I always want more with you, Booth."

"More," he grunted in understanding, even if he couldn't verbalize more than that single word of coherent thought in that moment. "More," he repeated.

Unable to deny his wife any longer, Booth positioned himself at her entrance, the heat emanating from her almost blistering him as he finally touched her. He drew a light circle with the tip of his cock around her once before he closed his eyes, took a swift breath, and then pistoned into her with a forceful movement.

Brennan cried out, not from hurt or even satisfaction at the feeling of him movement, but just with gratitude at finally feeling Booth fill her. Her hands fisted some of their sheets as her head snapped up and faced their bedroom door.

"You belong to me," Booth moaned as he used his hands to steady her swaying hips each time he pulled out of her and then slammed himself so tightly that he was buried to the hilt. "You're mine," he groaned. "You belong to me, and you're mine."

"Always," she repeated, lifting her ass as she tried to match his movements and found herself being thwarted each time as his hard grasp kept her pelvis stationary. Breathing in short, rapid gasps, the pair were matched in how hard their hearts were pounding and how sweat had started to bead on each of their foreheads, their hair becoming frizzy and damp with the efforts of their gratifying exertions. "Ohhhh, Booth," she groaned. "Ohhhh, ohhhhh—_aaaallll-lwwwwaaayyyss_."

"Bones," he groaned. "Oh, fuck—say it."

"I belong to you," she moaned. "I'm yours."

"And, that's all—" he grunted as he pumped into her again. "—that—" he hissed. "—matters."

Each time that Booth pressed into her, Brennan met his thrust with a move of her own, using her kegel muscles to tighten her walls around him, making it more difficult for him to fully withdraw each time he moved in and out of her. The friction made each movement plunge into her unbearably sweet.

"Ahhhh—" she cried. "Booth—_ahhhhhhhh_."

"Bones—" he grunted. "Ohhhh, God. _Bones_."

Straightening his back, Booth knew he was extremely close, and with one more fast and hard pitch as he plunged into her, Booth felt his balls tighten and stars start to dance before his eyes as he suddenly cried out. For her part, Brennan struggled to remain upright as her orgasm came hard and fast on the edge of his, her wave of pleasure melting away slowly as she eventually became aware of the rush of blood in her ears and the pounding of her heart being the only things she could hear.

However, it was Brennan who first became aware of the world around her once again, as she felt Booth's warm body slumping lightly against hers, his weight almost too much to bear in that moment. Brennan briefly thought about just falling into the softness of their mattress, and had almost resolved to do _exactly _that, when a new piece of sensory data finally registered in her mind. Her heavy and languid gaze suddenly realized that an identical pair of blue eyes were standing in their now open bedroom doorway and watching her with intense interest. Blue eyes met blue eyes, and each female held the other's gaze for a moment, intrigued to see what the other would do first to break their impromptu Mexican standoff.

* * *

><p>You know those horrible moments that everyone is always afraid they're going to have at some point in their life, but you rarely ever encounter someone who's actually had one? Well, after what happened in that moment, I can safely say that I now am in the minority who can tell a great, albeit highly embarrassing, story.<p>

For the most part, it happened fairly quickly, and if I'd been the one that actually spoke out first, I probably could've kept the situation from spiraling out of control as quickly as it did. You see, I've always suspected that in addition to being a bit of an empath—and setting aside that most children are conditioned to respond in certain ways as its expected of them by the adults in their life —she's also become quite adroit at mimicking people. So, if I'd managed to keep my metaphorical cool, she wouldn't have panicked.

However, the decision was quickly taken out of my hands when Booth, his eyes still closed, snapped open and simply blinked several times in the direction in which he was currently facing. Still positioned as he was behind me, that direction was in the same direction of our bedroom door and our toddler who'd gotten out of her bedroom and come 'exploring' once more. His mind still hazed by the fog of his powerful orgasm, it took Booth a moment for his brain to understand what his eyes were actually seeing. Then, as it finally clicked in his head, his languid gaze widened in shock. I felt his body tense—and _not _in a good way—before I heard him hiss.

Then, the next set of events happened quickly, _too _quickly for me to remember each point individually, but I do recall that he cursed out loud.

"Fuck!" Booth yelled.

Then, Chrissy's eyes widened as she locked onto Booth at the utter of that one word—and, for the _one _time I wish she'd actually chosen to focus on me instead of her father, she didn't. Even if she didn't know the meaning of the word, she knew her father's tone of voice, and it scared her. Chrissy's bottom lip began to quiver, her eyes started to water, and then a piercing shriek split the air. As she started to scream, Booth cursed and twisted against me, trying to get free of our compromising position. However, in his panicked haste, he misjudged and stumbled out of bed. He landed on the floor with a heavy grunt. Pulling the bed sheet against me, I sighed as I struggled to move, instinctively going towards my screaming child.

Chrissy continued to yell, and it was her cries that eventually pulled Parker from sleep. He suddenly appeared in our doorway, took in the image of a screaming Chrissy, his father laying inert on the side of the bed, and me clad in a bedsheet that I held tucked under one arm as I walked towards his sister and swept her into my embrace.

"Oh, God," Parker muttered as he rolled his eyes at the sight that greeted his eyes. "Gross, Bones!"

Holding Chrissy against my shoulder, rubbing her back with my free hand in a soothing gesture, I said, "It's the middle of the night, and this is _our_ bedroom, Parker."

"It doesn't mean it's not gross, Bones," Parker said, fully radiating his emo teenage angst that had taken over his normally sweet disposition since he'd turned 15. "Besides," he continued, crossing his arms. "Don't think I don't know _exactly _what's going on here."

"I would hope not," I said. "After all, I do believe that sex education is apart of your first-year curriculum in high school, is it not?"

"Bones!" a strangulated grunt came at my question. However, this time it wasn't from the younger person of my stepson that stood in front of me, but from the muffled voice of his father that was still on the ground by our bed for some reason.

Knowing _that _particular tone of Booth's voice only all too well, I nodded at Parker, "Would you please take your sister and put her back to bed?"

"Why?" Parker said as he moved to take Chrissy from my arms even as he waited for my explanation. For her part, Chrissy now seemed rather nonplussed given how much she'd been screaming just a few minutes earlier. Loving the fact that she was the center of everyone's attention, my daughter reached with open arms to her older brother. "Come 'ere, Tadpole," he said in a more gentle voice. Turning back to look at me, Parker then said, "So? Why am I putting Tadpole to bed again?"

"Because!" Booth's barely audible voice muttered from the other side of the room before I so much as had a chance to open my mouth and take a breath before speaking. "I need Bones' help here, okay?" came Booth's harried response.

"Oh, God," Parker repeated, rolling his eyes again. "Don't tell me you two are going to go back to getting it on as soon as we're outta here, because if you are...well, that's just gross, Dad...and wrong. .wrong!" He stopped and tilted his head at his sister as he said, "We're both scarred for life, now, aren't we, Tadpole?"

She stared in wide-eyed rapt attention at Parker, but wisely—perhaps reaffirming yet again that she was more _my _daughter than Booth's when it suited her, Chrissy said nothing.

However, displaying none of my foresight in an attempt not to annoy his father further, Parker just added metaphorical gasoline on the proverbial fire in a way that only Booths can as he bounced the baby once, made her smile, and then nodded. "Yup. Scarred for life, huh?" Turning to me, he sighed, "As soon as we're gone, you two aren't going to go at one another again like rabbits, are you, Bones?"

"Parker!" Booth grunted in frustration, at his son's words. Parker's blunt words seemed to spur Booth into action. He was clearly struggling to sit up, obviously in pain, and his frustration was growing as he couldn't so much as roll over without biting down on his lip to keep from groaning at the hurt of it.

Trying to avoid the wry smile that was threatening to crack my nondescript face at the comedy of the entire situation, I pushed away the worry I felt at Booth's obvious injury, as I slowly shook my head at my step-son and simply said, "Rest assured, Parker, your father and I won't be resuming any more sexual activities this evening."

"Good," Parker said with a firm nod. "Good."

"Although, I should clarify," I continued, not one to let Parker have the last metaphorical laugh. "It's mostly because we'd finished having sex before your sister interrupted us."

"Bones!" Parker yelled, startling the baby as Chrissy buried her head in her brother's shoulder as his loud exclamation. "Come on!"

"Bones!" Booth muttered again, echoing his son's discomfit, his voice cracking with embarrassment. "Please!"

"Oh, fine," I said, biting back a quip about the Booth DNA containing priggish tendencies. Nodding at the direction of where Booth lay unmoving, I said, "Apparently, I need to assist your father to regain his forward momentum. I'd appreciate it if you could put her back in bed and then return to your own room to resume your slumber."

Sighing, Parker said, "Fine."

"Thank you," I nodded.

"Goodnight, Bones," Parker grumbled as he turned around. "Goodnight, Dad," he called over his shoulder, the exasperation that was present in his father's voice clearly mirrored in his son's.

"Night, Bub," Booth muttered, the feigned joviality clear in his voice. "And, shut the door behind you, would ya?"

Shaking his head, Parker walked with Chrissy—since he knew he didn't need to be told twice—shut the door behind them, and left me to come around the side of the bed and stare down at my husband with one hand casually posed on my hip.

Booth looked up at me, blinking several times as he moved his head slightly, staring back at me from where he laid on his back.

"So, ummm, Booth?" I finally asked when he didn't say anything for almost a full minute.

"Yeah, Bones?" he responded.

"Is there any particular reason why you've chosen to remain prone and inert on our bedroom floor?" I inquired.

"Uhhh," Booth said, blinking at me, a look of hurt on his face. "Ummm…I know you probably don't want to hear this, but I don't think I can move right now."

A wave of fresh concern washed over me as I suddenly bent down and knelt next to him wondering how badly things actually were. "Why not? What did you do?"

"My back," he said as he tried to lift himself off the ground, winced, and then immediately fell back into the hardwood of our bedroom with a painful grunt. "Damn, Bones—my back…I think…I think it's not good."

Sighing, I brushed an errant strand of hair off his sweaty forehead as I said, "Give me a minute. Let me put some clothes on, and then we'll see how bad it is."

"It's bad," Booth called as I stood and moved to dress. "I don't know how bad, but I can't really move with wincing, Bones."

"Wonderful," I muttered as I went to my dresser, pulled out a fresh bra and pair of panties, and began to dress. "Just wonderful."

Of course, I used the term in the ironic sense, but I wouldn't find out just _how _ironic my statement was until the next day when Booth was high on pain meds. _Great. Just Great. But, not really...no._

-DELETE-

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p>

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note - continued<span> - So, the trials and tribulations of having a child that may just be too smart for their own good is now wrecking havoc on their sex life. Coming up next—Booth's thrown out his back again, is high on pain meds, but still has to participate in a conference call with Sully about one of their cases. Might he say something that finally alerts the whole gang to just how much B&B have been keeping from their co-workers and friends over the past few years? And, plus…you didn't think that I'd forgotten about good ole Michael Stires, now, did you? He's back in D.C., too, and wants to have another conversation with Brennan. So…I know it's been a while since this story has been on a regular update status, but we're starting to get to the half-way point. So, if you're interested in these revelations (plus, who in the hell murdered Hannah Burley?)—well, chime in and let me know you're still with me. And, if it's not too much to ask…well, any feedback about the smut is always a good thing to know, too. So, thanks again, and stay tuned!~


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